


at long last, love has arrived

by Ephemeral_Joy



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Alchemy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Secret Relationship, Star-crossed, bildungsroman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28041372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ephemeral_Joy/pseuds/Ephemeral_Joy
Summary: Princess Julietta Rose Molina has her life planned out for her.Keep her beautiful face, smile and marry a prince. Easy.But then she meets the handsome stable boy Lukas and everything isn't so easy anymore.(or: a royalty!au no one has written for some reason)
Relationships: Julie Molina/Luke Patterson
Comments: 101
Kudos: 277





	at long last, love has arrived

**Author's Note:**

> I accidentally listened to a dark royalty playlist on Youtube instead of my normal one, I wrote the outline of this in ten minutes, and then wrote the entire thing from Monday afternoon till now. I don't know what happened either. 
> 
> (Also, those waiting for an update on my other AU... don't kill me pls.) 
> 
> Sit back, listen to some Russian polka, and worship me as I've put my costume design lectures to good use. 
> 
> edited | not beta'd | T for general tragical undertone | title: can't take my eyes off you // frankie valli | tumblr: @lydias--stiles

The applause was deafening. 

Julietta Rose Molina stared as the ballerina made a deep reverence, her body soaked in diamonds and sweat and tulle, limbs so fine and pale they were nearly transparent. Her long neck reached up, a subtle smile playing on her painted lips. She was breathtaking. 

She stood up with the rest of the audience, a standing ovation for the dancer of their time. Catalina Marinetti, a prodigy and the same age as Julietta. The only difference was that Catalina was as free as a bird - literally. She spun and jumped so high she’d touch the clouds if she wanted to. Julietta only dreamt of the sky. 

Ever since her mother, Rosalinda Gracia Molina, abruptly died in the arms of her father, Julietta was kept inside. Except for the occasional visit to the theatre, like now, she stayed within palace grounds. Her grief was too much to bear. Only Evelyn and Caroline were allowed to see her. Ever since she turned eighteen, however, she has yearned the taste of freedom again. Seeing the glittering Catalina smiling so wide, so joyous, it made her want to be the same. 

She remembered how her mother used to be on that exact stage in a ruby red gown, velvet and satin and pearls and feathers weaved between her hair, as she sang librettos by Meyerbeer and Verdi. How she, a young Julietta, wouldn’t be holed up on the balcony with her father and stuffy lords, but sat in the front row. How her tiny hands would clutch the marble rims of the stage as she stared in awe at her majestic mother and yearned to sing like her. 

She remembered an even younger Julietta, cloaked in pink and hair ribbons, as her mother twirled her around in a field of poppies. It was a beautiful midsummer day, one of ease and mindless fun. How they laid in the grass after and pointed at the clouds (those that Catalina touched) and called all the shapes that came to mind. A pirate ship, a dahlia, a knight, a tiara, a mushroom. How her mother turned on her side and swiped her finger against Julietta’s little nose and whispered: “Never lose your spark, Julietta.”

Wondering, if Catalina stole it. Her fingers tingled from clapping so much. Could she steal it back? She nearly scolded herself for such a vile idea, when she felt a callous hand touch her shoulder. 

King Raymond Molina, her father, muttered: ‘Let us greet Catalina in the foyer. Chin up.’

The king, Julietta, her lady-in-waiting Evelyn, and a handful of guards descended the balcony at which they sat, taking the focus from the bowing ballerina to the royal family leaving the theatre. It was always a spectacle, it seemed. _Look at her_ , Julietta wanted to yell. One of the guards, the kind Alexander, handed her a bouquet of tulips. She thanked him and waited, next to her father, in the golden ballroom. Every inch of the room was slated in gold and crystals and rich, red velvety curtains. As a kid, Julietta would hang in them and pretend to be in a royal jungle, swinging from curtain to curtain. “Our little monkey,” Rosalinda used to joke. Julietta figured that, at eighteen, that wasn't exactly proper anymore. Still. It looked appealing. 

Delectable sweets decked the tables flanking the walls, other elite members slowly trickling inside and gingerly taking a macaron or caramel ball from the buffet. Ministers and high standing ladies nodded at the king, some shaking his hand, some complimenting the beauty of his only daughter. Whenever they did, Julietta felt embarrassed. Had she chosen the wrong gown? Was her hair too pompous? Was the cream satin across her shoulders too suggestive? 

‘Flynn,’ she whispered, ‘am I red?’

Evelyn - Flynn, for those close to her - shook her head. ‘You look lovely.’

‘Catalina!’, her father called out.

Julietta’s head whipped to the approaching ballerina. She was still in costume, but with a small jacket covering her to keep her warm. Her pointe shoes were greying and battered. Julietta wondered if her toes were bleeding. It kind of excited her, the idea of feet bleeding as she danced and danced and danced and didn’t stop, how it suited her character Giselle as she died in the arms of Albrecht. It was a testament of her vivaciousness. There Catalina was, alive and flushed. Julietta became even more envious. 

‘King Raymond.’ She bowed, her accent clunky. ‘Princess Julietta.’ When she moved from Russia, she changed her name to appeal to the audience of Las Almas, the wealthy island of which king Raymond ruled, but her Russian tongue remained. She was exotic. 

‘You were wonderful,’ Julietta commented, smiling, and handed her the bouquet. 

Catalina smiled back, reserved. ‘Thank you, princess.’ Another man called her name from behind and she looked back apologetically. ‘Thank you for the tulips. They’re…’ She sought a word. ‘Wonderful.’ 

When Raymond nodded, she made another bow and left to speak to the man. He was older than her father and gripped her hip when she reached his circle. Flynn and Julietta gave each other a look. While she was envious of Catalina’s talent and beauty, she was not of the attention ballerina’s so often got afterwards. The gossip she has heard…

Raymond, tired yet imposing, placed a hand on her elbow. ‘I will be making my rounds and then we leave. Stay with Lady Evelyn.’

‘Of course, father.’

Then he left and Julietta could finally exhale. Flynn giggled under her breath. The guards pretended not to notice, stiff and distant. 

‘Of course, father,’ Flynn mimicked, high pitched and making a funny face.

Julietta scoffed. ‘Stop it. Am I supposed to hitch up my dress and do a little dance?’

‘No, but you shouldn’t be so old-fashioned, Julietta,’ she rolled her eyes. ‘It’s 1861. The Lord has _finally_ given us some slack when it comes to propriety.’

‘Ah, yes, how liberating,’ Julietta sighed, melodramatic. ‘I can finally show my clavicle.’

Flynn took on a posh voice and pouted her lips. ‘You have rather beautiful clavicles.’

Julietta giggled and made a silly, little bow. ‘Thank you, Sir Flynn.’

‘Princess Julietta?’ The girls looked up, startled, by the sudden intruding voice. So often caught in their own bubble, they forget they were in a glamourous ballroom. A man, not much older than Julietta herself, held his hands behind his back.

‘My apologies for frightening you and your lady,’ he continued, sheepish. Then, he nodded at the string quartet playing a soft waltz. They hadn’t even noticed it. ‘May I have this dance?’

Oh. Julietta stiffened, eyes visibly widening in shock at the overt attention he gave her and desperately sought for a polite “No” in her vocabulary. When nothing came after a few embarrassing seconds, Flynn gently nudged her. It spurred her into action. ‘No thank you, sir. I am rather tired.’

‘Are you certain? We don’t often get a chance to dance with the princess.’ His smile was quite charming, suit crisp and royal blue. She wondered if she’s seen him before, but then decided against it. She’d remember such olive-toned skin and white teeth. 

‘I really mustn’t.’

‘Alright,’ he nodded, a tad upset. ‘Lovely as always, princess Julietta. Lady.’ He nodded and gave a slight bow, leaving the two to their own company. 

Flynn slapped her arm. ‘Why did you do that? He was attractive!’

‘And dance? In front of all these people? In front of my father?’ Julietta laughed, the mere notion ridiculous. ‘You know he’s trying to find me a suitor. If I’m promised to someone, it’d be quite the scandal dancing with someone else.’

Flynn’s expression fell flat. ‘But you’re _not_ promised to someone.’

She desperately wanted to change the subject. Romance and marriage and suitors gave her hives. Regency as a whole, for that matter. ‘Why don’t _you_ dance with him?’

‘Because I am your lady-in-waiting.’ Flynn forced an optimistic lilt. ‘Can’t leave you on the side all alone.’

A twinge of guilt pricked her eyes. ‘You should be allowed to dance with someone, Evelyn.’

A saddened smile brushed her lips, shrugging minutely. ‘One day.’

Julietta grabbed her hand and squeezed. ‘When I’m queen, I’ll get all the men lining up to dance with you, or, well…’ Her voice became a hush. ‘Women.’

Flynn squeezed back, hard. ‘Only a dream.’

‘One that can come true,’ she pressed. 

‘Don’t let me yearn.’

She sighed. ‘What is there left to do _but_ yearn, Flynn?’

The glint in her eye returned, mischievous. ‘Have you been reading those romance novels again?’

‘Why? Is that so bad?’, she grinned. Julietta loved reading, especially romantical ones. About knights saving princesses, about ladies lavishly decked in jewels waltzing around a ballroom with lords, about Amor secretly kissing Psyche in the dark that left the princess all flushed. Just because romance wasn’t on her mind personally, did not mean she didn’t enjoy reading other people’s adventures. Perhaps because no one has serenaded under her balcony like Romeo, or promised to love her without superficialities like Amor. She wanted romance like Pyramus and Thisbe and Orpheus and Eurydice and all those that came before and after. 

If Julietta wanted to be romanced, she had to be left breathless the second he (whomever that may be) caught her gaze. 

Flynn pulled on a ringlet caressing the princess’s cheek. ‘Always with your head in the clouds.’

‘Yes,’ Julietta said. ‘Always in the clouds.’

They left thirty minutes later in their carriages. Julietta, her father and guard Alexander in one, Flynn and the other guards in the other. She wished her friend was still here. There was no one to giggle or gossip with. 

‘Julietta, would you like to attend a political meeting tomorrow?’, her father said. 

She looked away from the window, surprised. ‘Why?’

Raymond smiled. ‘A princess must know about politics to give her husband advice.’

She sulked. ‘Oh. Right.’ 

‘Is that a yes?’

‘Yes, father,’ she muttered weakly. ‘I’ll attend.’ 

It was yet another reminder that, once Julietta found a suitor, she would not become queen of her own island. Las Almas would go to her younger brother Carlos once he was of ripe age - or when her father died. She’d be someone’s wife from whatever country her father pleased. Julietta has only ever known Las Almas. She knew its oceans and mountains and fields, its villages and cities and, of course, the palace. She knew its warm climate and which berries were poisonous. Leaving Las Almas terrified her. What if a prince from the Northern Regencies claimed her hand? Or a king from the Land of Nile? She has heard they had _lions_ on their palace grounds. Lions! How bizarre was that?! Perhaps the Russian Empire would be the worst - cold blizzards all year long. She didn’t even know what a blizzard felt like. 

But women weren’t allowed to rule. Women didn’t own land or money or children - it all went to their husband. Her mother had advocated for a queen’s rights, but when she died, the debate died with her. Julietta was only a child and not confident in her retorics yet to stand her ground against greying men. She aged and people forgot about it. No one mentioned it ever again. 

Caroline, princess of the Saxon Isles and a neighbour of Las Almas, went red with rage when she found out she wasn’t allowed to rule. Julietta remembered trying to console the princess for hours and she bawled and seethed in her bedroom. No amount of pearls or horses could sooth the pain. It made her hard. Sometimes Julietta didn’t recognise her kindred friend. Her smile thinned and the quirk of her brow shot someone dead if she pleased. The Saxon princess found solace in boys. It gave the Isles _quite_ the reputation. 

Caroline’s father, King Trevor, has been desperately searching for a suitor, but with her smeared name, it was rather difficult. On one stormy night when Caroline visited, she told Julietta how her devious plan was working. Julietta was in awe by her. Frightened, but mesmerised. She often wished she had Carrie’s courage. 

But she didn’t, and so she attended meetings and parties and smiled and waved and declined dances with handsome men. She briefly wondered if she had missed her chance. 

They entered palace grounds, the carriages coming to a stop in front of the main building. It was bursting with life inside, bustling maids and help rushing by. When guard Alexander helped her out of the carriage, she smelled freshly made bread. A smile pulled on her lips. Perhaps she’d sneak into the kitchen tonight for a small snack. 

Flynn awaited her by the front doors, tall and set with vibrant stained glass. Julietta reached up and kissed her father’s cheek. 

‘Good night, father. I’ll be reading in my room.’

He caressed her cheek, a tender look on his face. He never looked lively though. Not since mother died. ‘Good night, my flower.’

Flynn helped her out of her gown, Julietta deeply exhaling as the corset came undone. She loved how it looked on her, but it was rather unpractical long term. One by one, Flynn plucked the butterfly pins from her hair, curls falling down against her back. They were her mother’s. It was quite morbid: captured butterflies, frail and thin, tacked on thin metal pins. However, they were too beautiful to _not_ wear them. 

‘Thank you.’ She went into her nightgown herself, the soft fabric falling over her chemise, and plopped down on her chaise longue. ‘My feet were _killing_ me.’ 

‘Do you think Catalina’s feet are fine?’, Flynn commented lightly. 

Julietta chuckled. ‘I think they’re bleeding.’

‘I love dancing, but I would never do it like her. Pointe shoes seem…’

‘Extremely painful?’

Flynn laughed. ‘Yes.’

‘It’s pretty though,’ she mused. She rose from the chaise and began waltzing around her room, twirling on her tippy toes and, for a moment, forgot her aching feet. She imagined she was Giselle, tragically beautiful and elegant, dancing through the medieval Germanic countryside. Humming the music, she swayed from one end of the room to the other, feet sinking into the plush, cream carpet. Flynn giggled from the chaise. Julietta launched herself towards Flynn with a fumbling grand jeté and dragged her into the waitz, both leading and pretending to be pretentious lords with a stick up their arse. They’ve seen quite a lot of those in their young lifetime. 

Evelyn was assigned to Julietta when her mother died. Flynn’s mother was a seamstress and her father worked at the stables all their life; Evelyn born into the castle herself. They lived in the quarters of the help and she helped her mom sew dresses and shirts. When she turned twelve, she became Julietta’s lady-in-waiting. By then, Julietta had turned down four others in just two months. They were too old or too boring or too harsh - none of them understood her grief. Neither did Flynn, but she listened. And in turn, Julietta listened to her struggles. It was her first true friend outside of Caroline. Julietta was well aware of her status, but Flynn had promised her time and time again that, in a different life, they’d also be friends. “It is written in the stars,” she always said. “And if not, then I’ll make _sure_ it’s written down.” 

That brashness was something Julietta loved: Flynn was real. She didn’t care to be a jester sometimes. Like now. 

Flynn pulled her into a tight embrace. ‘I’m going to bed.’

‘Okay,’ Julietta smiled, mood lifted by this small moment of silliness. ‘Good night.’

She flicked a braid over her shoulder and fluttered her lashes. ‘Do I look like I just danced a waltz?’

She giggled. ‘Yes.’

‘Perfect.’ And then the two girls blew each other a dramatic kiss as Flynn left the bedroom. The door shut. Alone at last.

When Julietta was young, she loved how spacious her bedroom was. Her lustrous canopy bed made from mahogany, the room for her enormous doll house, the ritzy closet filled to the brim with dresses dripping in gold. As she aged, she found it rather scary how much empty space there was. Her bed too big, her windows too wide - it all felt wrong. She once pleaded her father to share the room with Flynn, but he was against it. “Improper,” he called it. Julietta didn’t see the difference between a sleepover with princess Caroline, but then figured it had to do with Flynn’s status. She didn’t talk to her father for a week out of spite, until he reprimanded her for her childish behaviour with a tap on her fingers by a wooden ruler. They never talked about it.

The sky outside has darkened to an inky black by the time she lit the candles and sat by one of the large windows overlooking the palace gardens. In honour of her mother, they were covered with roses of all colours. A maze of thorns and petals as far as she could see. It made for a perfect stroll during particularly hot days as it gave some shade. While her book was propped in her lap, she couldn’t quite focus on the words. Catalina the prima ballerina kept spinning in her head. How free she was. If only her feet were bleeding…

Suddenly, she heard a shout. 

Julietta shot up, craning her neck to see where it came from. It sounded boyish. Then, she saw a glimmer outside, silhouettes of boys against the faint burn of candlelight. They were roughhousing each other, but it didn’t seem malicious. One, tall and lanky, jumped on the back of a toned, shorter man and made them fall over into the grass. They laughed and screamed and shushed each other to no avail. Julietta held back a snicker, nose almost pressed against the window from pure curiosity and wonder. Who were these boys? Were they the help? Why were they still out so late? Julietta couldn’t fathom being out and about without someone shadowing her - especially not after dark! Even she felt a bit frightened about walking alone after all the horror stories old countesses and duchesses have told her. They’d slice her throat! They’d ask for ransom money! The most sinful implications arose from those conversations.

Julietta wanted to be free, but _also_ safe. Quite the dilemma. 

The boys were happy though. Spirited and careless. If she were a boy, she would be just like them. Then she’d learn to fight and no one would pull up their nose whenever she wore her bloomer suit.

Her nose was now truly pressed against the glass in the most unladylike way possible as she stared and analysed their movements. It was the kind of fighting she’d see Carlos do with his friends. Amicable and teasing and goodhearted. Like dogs. The thought made Julietta laugh out loud. The boys stilled and looked up. She shrieked and shot down, stomach flat against the chaise as she cursed herself for her foolishness. They probably knew the princess slept there and now they caught her peeping! The impropriety of the situation wasn’t lost on her. Then again, _they_ shouldn’t have been fighting at night in the first place! She huffed. This was _not_ her fault. She shouldn’t be embarrassed! 

‘Stop being such a child,’ Julietta muttered. 

When she looked back out the window, the boys were gone. They must be more scared of her than she of them, worried she’d snitch. They must find themselves fortunate. Julietta knew when to keep a secret. Besides, it made for _wonderful_ gossip.

Two hours passed and by midnight, Julietta was peckish for that bread she smelled before. It was forbidden for royalty to set foot on grounds of the help (Something about being “too holy” for such places… Julietta wished she cared that much.), which included the kitchen, but the head baker and her had come to an agreement a long time ago. The baker would make a little bit more just in case she wanted a snack, and Julietta wouldn’t tell anyone about the bending of the rules. 

She slipped into her slippers and threw a robe over her shoulders. Even on an island like Las Almas were the nights cold. 

As quiet as possible, she opened her door. It was dead quiet. No flickering lights, no echoing footsteps, no faraway laughter. Everyone was asleep. She shut her door and then, in the dark, flittingly made her downstairs. She ran past doors she knew were unimportant and held her breath past the doors of maids and guests and ministers. Her robe fluttered behind her as she made it to the kitchen quarters, halls upon halls for every food group. Pickled fish, smoked meat, crates of vegetables and fruits from the island, potatoes from the Saxon Isles, and there, all the way at the end: the entrance to the baker hall. _Viennoiserie_ written in loopy writing above the vault. The aromatic smell made her mouth water. 

Julietta turned the corner, lit the lantern by the door, and yelped. 

‘Ah!’

Three boys lurched forward and furiously shushed her, pressing their finger against their lips. One she recognised immediately: guard Alexander, one of her father’s most trusted men. What in God’s name was he doing in here?! With these… these strangers?! 

Her heart kept pounding as all four awaited for someone to storm down there. No one came. Everyone sighed in relief. 

‘Princess.’ Alexander’s voice dripped with guilt as he took another step forward and kneeled. The other boys dropped down a beat later. One peeked from between his lashes. She glared at him and his head shot down again. Embarrassed, she wrapped the robe tighter around her body. No man, not even her father, has ever seen her this scantily dressed. 

‘What are you doing on kitchen grounds? That is not your position guard Alexander.’

He stood up, his striking height towering over her. ‘Our deepest regrets, princess. We were acting foolish.’ He nodded at the two men behind him. ‘These are Reginald, from the string quartet, and Lukas, he works at the stables.’

Julietta nodded, curt, chin raised as to not look at them. ‘Well then… off you go.’

‘I’m sorry, princess.’ The boy that looked at her spoke up, less frightened by a possible punishment than Alexander or Reginald. ‘We were hungry and- not that we don’t get fed but-’ He swallowed his words. 

Aggravated, she waved her hand. ‘Finish your sentence!’ 

He sighed and went to stand next to Alexander. ‘Look, we were only going to grab a loaf. Just one.’

His big pleading eyes made her think of a dog, almost making her snort with derision, when she was suddenly reminded of that behaviour from outside. Was that him? Roughhousing with the musician? He had some nerve, likely knowing she had been watching and then asking for a loaf. She pursed her lips, unsure of what to do. 

Alexander made the decision for her. ‘Don’t mind him, princess. He doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.’ He gritted the latter at Lukas, scathing. ‘We’ll be off-’

‘Wait,’ she heard herself say. Her hand reached out, falling slack when they stared at her. Uneasy, she nodded at the baskets. ‘Grab one. Only one!’

Lukas let out a breath of relief, a dazzling smile smacked on his face. She almost took a step back. ‘Thank you so much princess!’

‘Thank you, your highness,’ Reginald added and stuck his hand in the basket, retrieving a strong chunk of sourdough.

Overcome by sudden bravery, Julietta straightened her back and steeled her face. ‘If I hear _any_ word or gossip, a simple whisper from the stables to the palace gardens, I _will_ rat you out. Understood?’ 

The three boys nodded fervently, made another bow, and ran out from the back door, slamming shut behind them. Julietta sighed, shoulders falling slack. She couldn’t risk getting the baker fired or let her father think Alexander wasn’t reliable. He was the youngest of the guard, a mere twenty years old, and she knew any of them hunkered for a higher ranking. She didn’t want to take his chances of obtaining a commanding position. 

Julietta grabbed her brioche, smeared mango chutney on top, and went back to her room twinged with the feeling that she had done something wrong. 

‘The Court of Versailles is a strong ally, but we have noticed they’ve been changing their prices on trade and toll. They are gaining more power, more than Las Almas can take on. We suspect that they are trying to claim total power over the Lucian Sea - and with the Auguste dynasty, that might happen.’ The sage minister Lorenzo lamented on, throwing words Julietta didn’t quite understand.

It was the political meeting her father oh, so dearly asked her to join. Woken up by Flynn a mere thirty minutes before, (“You weren’t waking up! How long were you reading those silly romances?”) she made it in the nick of time. The ministers, seated around a oval stone table, had bowed minutely, but all seemed confused. At first, she thought a pin was out of place or her skirt was hiked up, but then she figured it must be because she was… well, a woman. 

She glanced at her father, him in his black marble throne and her in a smaller one next to him, as he nodded thoughtfully and hummed every so often.

While politics didn’t terribly bore her, Lorenzo’s voice wasn’t anything excitable. She suppressed a yawn. If only Flynn was allowed to join her. Then they’d whisper behind their hands about all the bearded men in their stiff suits. She glanced down at her sky blue gown, corseted and adorned with pearls along the hems. It was one of her more severe dresses, but she still looked out of place. Her bloomer suit wasn’t an option: they’d laugh her straight to her room. 

‘King Hugo has fallen ill, however,’ Lorenzo said and consequently peaking Julietta’s interest.

‘For the time being, Queen Madeleine has been taking charge-’ A man snorted. Julietta clenched her jaw. ‘But after, prince Nicholas of the Court of Versailles will likely take over. I suggest we…’ A wry smile formed on his wrinkled mouth. ‘Serve them a polite visit.’

King Raymond leaned in, the hand decked in golden rings stroking his beard. ‘Influencing a young man? Won’t that cause an outrage?’

Another minister perked up. ‘There’s nothing sinful about _potentially_ influencing his decisions. We only do what’s best for Las Almas. Prince Nicholas should know that.’

‘Still,’ Julietta quipped before she could stop herself. All twelve pairs of eyes zeroed in on her, blatantly annoyed she spoke. Feared, she shot a look at her father. He stared back at her, pensive. What was he thinking? 

She gulped and turned back to the men. ‘My apologies,’ she uttered. 

Lorenzo nodded. ‘All is well, princess. May I continue, Sire?’

He held his hand up, an odd glint in his eyes. Julietta shifted uncomfortably. Whenever her dad had that expression, he had a wild idea. That used to be spontaneously ordering a chocolate fountain for her tea parties with stuffed animals, but as the years went on and his sparkling eyes waned, the ideas were often… convoluted. ‘Thank you, Lorenzo. But you are all dismissed.’

The hum of mutters stopped short, all regarding the king in surprise. Julietta frowned, fingers clutching her skirt. Was she supposed to go too? But then, just as she tried to scurry off, he grasped her elbow.

‘Stay.’

She sank back in her chair, skirt fanning around her. ‘Yes, father?’

He watched as all the man left and silence settled. Then, he mustered a smile, glimmering eyes set on her as he cupped her chin. 

‘You look wonderful today.’ 

‘Thank you.’

He hooked his hands together. ‘I have a proposition. You want to help our island, right?’

Was he requesting for _her_ help? Out of all his men? She perked up, grinning. Perhaps she was actually a valuable asset and he finally saw she was worthy of reigning! Maybe he did think about it, in silence, and wanted to surprise her now. Julietta nodded. ‘Yes. Of course, father!’

Hope bloomed on his face. ‘Then… you wouldn’t mind me asking, if…’

Julietta leaned forward, holding her breath. Please, please, please, please, please-

‘If we made our allegiance with the Court of Versailles stronger by proposing a marriage between you and prince Nicholas.’

She gasped. ‘What?!’

Everything she thought she ever knew fell down in shards of glass around her, thundering disbelief striking her in the chest. It was as if she got kicked in the stomach by a horse, aching and breathless. Julietta was paralysed. 

Sensing her distress, he snatched her fingers. ‘Don’t be upset, my flower. This has been your duty since the day your mother birthed you. If Nicholas accepts and takes your hand in marriage, we will remain the strongest regency in all of the Southern Seas, the Lucian Sea in particular. You wouldn’t want to disappoint our people, now would you?’ 

Disconcerted, she slowly shook her head. Her brain was failing her. What was happening? ‘Well… no, but-’

‘Then you recognise my logical decision, right?’

‘Father-’, she choked, tears building in the corners of her eyes. No! Why was everything falling apart?!

He tightened his hold on her fingers. It hurt. ‘Don’t. Cry. Only weaklings cry. Are you listening to me?’ 

Whimpering, she furiously shook her head. She wanted to get out! The room had no air, suffocating every cell in her being. ‘Father… I thought you’d let me decide for myself. I thought I still had time.’ Fear struck her deep. ‘I’m not ready to be wed.’

A nasty scowl formed. He was scaring her. ‘You’re also too old to play make-belief with your lady-in-waiting Evelyn. I heard you dancing with her in your room last night. Really, Julietta?’

‘We were just having fun! Aren’t I allowed to have fun?!’, she yelled, realising her mistake a beat too late. 

Letting go of her hands, he grabbed her by the neck and roughly pulled her close. Julietta yelped, hair caught in his heavy rings. ‘Listen to me,’ he gritted. ‘You are my daughter and you _shall_ obey my orders. Asking you was just a propriety.’

A sob erupted from her lips, tears unabashedly streaming down her cheeks. ‘You’re hurting me, father.’

‘Did you listen?’, he spat. 

Julietta trembled, a low, obedient nod in place of another retort. ‘Yes…’

‘Good.’ He let go, her scrambling away and nearly stumbling over her skirt. With a dismissive wave, he added: ‘You can go.’

She didn’t need to told twice. Slamming the door open, she sprinted into the hallway, passing a startled Flynn on her way. 

‘Julietta!’

But she didn’t stop, she kept running - she couldn’t breathe! She had to go outside! Racing down sweeping corridors and past arches filled with sculptures and paintings from past rulers, the open gates awaited her. The sweet smell of orange orchards and roses greeting her nose with the first step she set on grass. And yet, she didn’t stop. She ran passed guards, breathing rattled and heavy and unable to keep it up any longer with the tightly bound corset and heavy skirt. Going through the maze of roses she knew all too well, she finally passed the perfectly manicured gardens into the wilder, romantical part of the grounds she loved so dearly. Where she and her mother used to pick out their favourite cloud. Julietta slowed down a bit and looked over her shoulder. No one was following her. 

The blue satin ribbon that kept her hair back had gotten loose. She tied it around her wrist and let her curls fly in the warm breeze. Finally, she was able to take a breath. 

Marrying prince Nicholas. Has her father gone mad? He must be. She hasn’t even met the prince! She didn’t even know what he looked like nor have they had any correspondence. And if he was fit to be king, wouldn’t he be betrothed by now? Weren’t there plenty of Versaillan ladies he could choose from? 

Julietta stomped her foot, pacing quicker and quicker as her blood came to a boiling point. 

Did he even speak Spanish? She knew French, being taught French literature and music as a child, but that didn’t mean the favour was returned in other kingdoms. Julietta huffed, a frustrated scream crawling from her mouth as she dumped her body onto the ground, tall grass towering above her. Another scream roared as she pounded the ground with her fists. Argh! Why was life so unfair?! 

‘Everything alright, princess?’

Her head jerked up, nearly snapping her neck in two to look at the man in question. _Wonderful_. How much more could she embarrass herself? Julietta wanted to crawl into the mud and disappear forever. Quickly swiping the wetness from her cheeks, she caught sight of the melodious voice. 

It was Lukas. _Right_ . The stables. She looked passed him, a troupe of horses peacefully eating the grass. Julietta blinked, straightened her features and then, as dignified as possible, stood upright. He held out his hand, but she ignored it. She did not need the help of _any_ man, thank you.

It fell slack on his side. By daylight, she got a better look of him. Tall and sun-kissed from working outside, lean yet toned arms peaking through his white working shirt. His hair covered his eyebrows, strong blue eyes peeking underneath. A pronounced Cupid’s bow framed his lips, skin smattered with freckles. He was… well…

‘Princess?’

She nodded quickly. ‘I’m well, thank you.’ Her blunt expression said everything. _Don’t ask me_ . _This is not your business_. 

He looked down at the coarse brush in his hand, which were grimed with mud and dust and scars. Working hands. Callous, particularly the tops of his fingers. How peculiar. 

‘Do you want to see your horse, princess Julietta?’, he queried instead, building a small and careful smile. 

Julietta sighed. Anything but worrying inside sounded delightful. ‘Yes, please.’

He debated against lending him the crook of his arm, saw how sweaty he was, and decided against it. She stifled a giggle. He could be a jester if the stables didn’t suit him.

The stables were one of her favourite spots on palace grounds. For one, it was far away from everything else. It almost seemed like she wasn’t within the walls, as they were too far to see with the naked eye. She’d need a telescope to see the end. What mattered was that it felt like freedom. And while it smelled like horse poop and hay, it brought the happiest memories to mind. Most of which include her mother, galloping through the meadows or teaching her how to ride like a man. Her horse, Canción, was as black as the night with eyes that shone like emeralds. For a while, she believed he was a magical creature graced by God and given to her. Now she knew that to be a fairy tale, but it was the loveliest horse she had ever seen nonetheless. 

‘Canción,’ she breathed, smile breaking onto her face as the horse met her halfway. Instantly, a wave of ease washed over her. At that moment, the love for one of her greatest companions was far greater than the hatred she currently possessed for her father. She knew it wouldn’t last, but those were problems for future Julietta. 

‘Is the stable boy treating you well?’, she teased, caressing his stomach. 

The boy went to stand on the other side, brushing the manes. ‘My name is Lukas, princess.’

‘I know,’ she peered at him. ‘I heard guard Alexander last night.’

He flushed. ‘Yes. Our deepest apologies, again.’

‘It’s fine,’ she muttered. Catching a scare by bread-stealing help felt like a lifetime ago. ‘You’re not my biggest problem.’

His forehead rose, unsure how to react. ‘I know this is not my place, but…’

Julietta flared up. ‘No, it is not. I’d rather not talk about business with the help.’ She shot him a glare, except regretted it immediately seeing his barely concealed hurt. Why was she doing everything wrong today? The least she could be was try and be kind to this man. 

‘Right…’

She sighed. Perhaps… it might help her if she emptied her heart a little. ‘Sorry. I am quite frustrated today by my, uh, lack of freedom.’ She made a face. ‘I know that sounds… I know that sounds very haughty of me. But-’

‘It’s alright.’ He held his hands out. ‘I understand.’

She frowned. ‘You do?’

‘Princesses can’t rule, right?’ A half-hearted grin pulled on his features. 

Julietta chuckled, tired. ‘Nor do queens.’ Regarding him again, she asked: ‘How did you end up in the palace? Tending to the horses of royalty no less.’

He laughed, as if it were a joke. ‘My, ah, parents. They disowned me. The palace was looking for new help and I’ve always done jobs like these.’ He shrugged. ‘Quite the catch, palace horses.’

Dread ate at her. Here she was, lamenting about her father giving her a chance at riches and lavish Versaillan parties, meanwhile his parents _disowned_ him. Was he a bastard perhaps? Her gaze cast down, regretful. ‘I’m sorry.’

Lukas shook his head, that smile never fully leaving. It unnerved her, caused warmth to grow in her chest. ‘Not your fault, princess.’

‘May I ask why?’

He sighed, dropping the brush in his satchel and walking towards the shed. She followed after him. ‘Well.’ Huffing, he grabbed Canción’s saddle. ‘They were medics and I wanted to be an artist. We didn’t come to an agreement and that was it.’

She resisted the urge to apologise again and simply nodded, following him back out of the shed. ‘That must be hard.’

‘It’s alright,’ he quipped. ‘Now I have the greatest friends in all of mankind.’

‘Alexander and Reginald?’, she supplied. 

His grin widened. ‘Yes.’ And then, he halted his steps and leaned in as if to tell her a secret. ‘But I call them Alex and Reggie.’

‘Alex and Reggie.’ She tasted the nicknames. It sounded funny. ‘That’s rather Saxon.’

‘More people speak English,’ he shrugged. ‘I go by Luke.’

She frowned. ‘And I’m still Julietta.’

He laughed, melodious and low. ‘Yes. Of course.’

‘Try for me,’ she smiled, clasping her hands. It was nice to speak to someone with this casual of a rapport. While Evelyn went by Flynn, Julietta never had a nickname. 

Surprised, he placed the saddle on Canción and thought for a moment. He cleared up, drummed his fingers on the saddle, and did a small bow. ‘Your horse is ready, Julie.’

An odd thrill passed through her as he uttered those words. For one, to not be spoken to with “princess” attached, and two… Julie. How short. It sounded like the name of a child in a Saxon story. ‘Julie.’ She giggled at how adorable it was. ‘I love it.’

Luke stared at her for a beat and then shook his head. ‘Do you need help getting on your horse, princess?’

‘Oh.’ She hadn’t even realised he prepared her horse, nor has she considered riding today. Then again, today has been rather unexpected as a whole and it was only noon. She regretted not wearing her bloomer suit now. She despised sitting sideways. Alas. 

‘I’m fine on my own.’ She took the reins from his grasp and swiftly mounted Canción, her long blue skirt bouncing around. High above the ground, she felt a twinge of power. Her spirit lifted once more, especially as Canción bobbed his head in anticipation. He’d been awaiting her. 

He looked up at her. ‘I can see,’ he commented lightly. Pulling his hands behind his back, Luke nodded at the other horses needing his care. ‘Uh, it was nice talking to you, princess.’

‘Wait!’ It left her without knowing what came after. Julietta cursed herself. Why was she blabbing her mouth off today? 

Luke froze. ‘Yes?’

She finished her thought from before. Lukas was dashingly handsome. Somehow, she already knew he was more good-looking than prince Nicholas. 

Mustering a smile, she said: ‘Please, no more “princess”. Call me Julie.’ And then she galloped away, not waiting for his response and instead smiling to herself. Giddy. A cute stable boy as a friend? That might entertain her.

That afternoon, Julietta recounted the story to Flynn in her bedroom, more tired then furious as she paced back and forth. If Flynn noted her muddied skirt and wild hair, she didn’t say anything. Raging, she told every little detail from the way her father had gripped her jaw to how useless and dirty she felt - while also omitting the part where she and Lukas had a conversation. She supposed that he’d rather not have everyone know his reasoning for residing on palace grounds. 

Flynn tried consoling her. ‘Perhaps you will meet prince Nicholas and he is as charming as ever!’

‘Aren’t Versaillan people…’ She stuck her finger in her mouth. ‘Snobby?’

Her friend shrugged, seemingly too humble for nasty gossip today. ‘I bet a lot of people can say that about Las Almas royalty too.’

Julietta groaned and fell on her bed. ‘I don’t want to marry, Flynn. Financial and political allegiance was not how I wanted to meet my husband.’

‘Julietta,’ she sighed, sitting on the edge. ‘You know it was always supposed to go like this. You’re not those heroines from the stories.’

God, she was so done being told what she was and wasn’t, what she could and couldn’t do. Why couldn’t she find out for herself who she wanted Julietta to be? Was it so bad to want more for herself than be another diamond on the Versaillan king’s crown? 

‘Why can’t I?’, she seethed. ‘Didn’t you say times weren’t so old-fashioned anymore?’

Flynn bit her lip. ‘Yes. But we’re still women.’

A puff of bitter laughter left her, hands rubbing against her face. How fantastic. Just because she bled she had to be punished. ‘Unfortunately.’

‘But time will catch up,’ Flynn tried, ever the optimist. ‘One day, a version of you and I will be parading down the street, unchaperoned,’ Her voice went to a whisper. ‘With our ankles _out_.’

Pulling her weight up, Julietta gasped. ‘How _scandalous_.’

‘I _know_. Who knows, maybe we’ll even get to wear those cotton pants the stable boys wear.’

The stable boys. She bit her cheek, trying - and failing - to keep herself from smiling. In just mere minutes, Lukas had calmed her down, made her chuckle, and unnerved her deeply by simply looking at her. In the best way possible. It was odd, as it wasn’t how she had connected with Flynn the first time. With Luke, they just… did a word grand enough exist for what she felt? 

‘What?’

She snapped out of her reverie. ‘Huh?’

Flynn’s gaze trailed down to her skirt and hair and tilted her head. ‘You have a look on your face.’

‘Yes,’ she puffed, trying to remain unaffected. ‘Because I am sold like a _cow_ to a _snob_ , that’s why.’

‘Alright,’ she sang, peering like she knew something Julietta didn’t. In response, the princess threw a pillow. ‘Ah!’

‘Do you want to be a pot stirrer or do you want to fight?!’, she yelled, Luke pushed to the back of her mind. 

Flynn guffawed and grabbed the pillow from the floor, vengeance raising it above her head. ‘It’s _so_ on!’

***

_You have taken something that I cannot pronounce and I want it back. I think it’s the rhythm of my heart. It doesn’t beat the same anymore and I think you’re the reason why._

***

Despite being an islander, Julietta felt seasick. 

A week after the fight with her father, he announced to her during dinner that he took care of everything and managed to be a guest at the Versaillan Spring Ball, consequently securing her chance to talk and impress the revered prince Nicholas. Her first rendez-vous and she had no clue what he looked like. When he told her, she almost spat back and asked if that was even legal on royal grounds. But she bit her tongue, nodded, mustered a smile and caught Alexander’s eye on the other side of the room. His face didn’t move an inch, but she knew he heard everything, she knew how fast gossip travelled. Her heart sank to her feet. If she embarrassed herself in Versaille, then _everyone_ would know and she’d be the joke of Las Almas. Since that night, Julietta felt the pressure weighing on her shoulders.

(Meanwhile, Carlos cheered he had the palace to himself and pleaded father to command the cooks to make dulce de leche every single day. Julietta equally wanted to _be_ him and strangle him.) 

It didn’t help that Flynn wasn’t permitted to go to the Court of Versaille either. Her father claimed it was because she didn’t have a passport, but Julietta knew better. Well, she knew _herself_. She’d hide behind Flynn and distance herself as much as possible from the prince and the entire regency. Without Flynn, her confidante, she’d be forced to talk to other people. 

After a tearful goodbye the eve before the trip, Julietta packed her trunk all by herself. She didn’t want Flynn’s help. It would’ve felt dirty - letting her do the work and not even joining. King Raymond, Julietta, a maid and a handful of his men would be on the trip. They’d stay in Versaille for a couple of days enjoying the breezy weather, the culture, and attend the ball on the third and final night. She supposed Flynn not attending the ball was reasonable, but why not the other days? Flynn ravished every fashion catalogue and magazine she could get her hands on, especially enamoured by Versaillan design. It was truly a shame. 

The night, a pebble flew against her window. She instantly knew who it was. Opening her window and entering her balcony, a second pebble nearly hit her in the face. 

‘Hey!’, she hissed. 

‘Sorry, Julie!’ He took on a jovial pose, throwing stones like dice. ‘Can’t handle a little dirt, princess?’

Leaning against the balustrade, she made a face. ‘I can, but I don’t think Versaille will.’

Luke laughed, gazing up at her with mischievous eyes. Her heart grew soft whenever he did. The week she was about to leave behind was filled with quick meetings at the stables, her always “casually” encountering him. She couldn’t help it, this insatiable curiosity flaring up every time she was around him. Luke was enigmatic. And he didn’t mind her impromptu visits - she could even be so bold and say he _liked_ her company. They talked. A lot. They talked about what he liked and disliked about working at the stables, that his boss, Lord Salome, was a real “pain in the ass” (she slapped his shoulder at the wording), what games he loved playing with Alexander and Reginald. Julietta eagerly listened. It was so satisfying having a new friend that _talked_ to her, without mincing words or thinking twice. 

In return, he listened to her with that lopsided smile on his face she found rather adorable. She told him about the music she liked and the painters she adored and the ballets she has watched. How Flynn was her bosom friend and how she yearned to give her the entire universe if she could. She told him about how long she has been horse riding, and whispered that she secretly rode like a boy too. 

‘So you’re attending a ball?’

‘Yes,’ she sighed, plucking at her sleeves. ‘Among other things.’

She hadn’t told him about this however. 

He wiggled his brows and did a silly move with his feet. ‘Dancing the waltz with old men?’

The frown became a grimace. ‘Among other things.’

Luke chuckled, softer. ‘I am certain you’ll be fine, princess.’

She swallowed back the fear and nodded, secure. ‘Yes. Of course…’ She trailed off, unsure how to say goodbye. It was only a week. Two day ferry, three days in Versaille, two days back. So she didn’t. ‘Good night, Lukas.’

He nodded, an awkward salute coming from his fingertips as stepped back, nearly falling into a rose bush. She giggled, muffled behind her hands as he scolded himself. Before he could embarrass himself any more, she disappeared inside her bedroom again, drawing the curtains shut. Her hands kept a grip on the velvety texture, forehead pressed against her knuckles as she sighed. Her cheeks hurt from smiling, yet dread filled her stomach like bile. His fond chuckle rang in her ears. Focus, she reprimanded herself. Think of Las Almas. Be a good princess. 

And now here she was, on the ferry watching the sloshing waves crash and split and dance, unbothered. How she wished to be a force of nature. To be as wild as the Lucian Sea or as powerful as thunder and lighting. Nature raged and did what it pleased. Or it was simple, like a rainbow, and it had to do nothing but make people happy. A life without duty. 

If Julie were a ruler of the universe, she’d make herself a thunderous rainbow that struck love like lightning. She chuckled to herself, tracing the droplets on the railing with her finger. Only a wish. Never more than a wish. 

She was just done practising her French with her maid and teacher, lady Maria, in her cabin. Maria was perfectly bilingual and has taught Julietta since she was five years old. While her French was good, the extra training helped her become comfortable again conversing. Reading Alexandre Dumas and gossiping about the colour of a lady’s skirt were quite different.

‘Comment ça va?’ The deep rumble of his voice didn’t startle her. 

She didn’t look at him, kept her gaze fixed on the horizon. ‘I’m well, father. Thank you.’

He sighed. ‘You’re supposed to be practising.’

She gritted her teeth. ‘I’ve practised with lady Maria. Mon français est parfait.’

‘Of course,’ he replied, making sure she heard how much he didn’t believe his very own statement. Her hands gripped the railing until they turned white. ‘Tomorrow you have another day to practise, ma fleur.’

The second day was drowned with dress fittings on shaky legs as Maria and Julietta decided which one would be most suitable to arrive in that night. The red one was rather extravagant, while the pale yellow one seemed too plain. After hours, they went with the emerald green one. Not too much, but not too little either. Her purple gown was kept for the ball; la pièce de résistance. All the while they conversed in French, which was plenty of enough practise for her. It wasn’t like she had to train on how to construe a substantiated argument about illiteracy in the poorer villages or the slave trade in the West of the world. (Between dress number seven and twelve, she let herself fantasise how that would be: standing in a circle with men as she took the lead in the debate and stunned everyone with her rhetorical prowess. It almost sounded like a joke.) 

Finally, by nightfall, the beam of a lighthouse came into view. Julietta had been reading in her cabin when the light abruptly shone in her face and nearly made her drop the candle. She placed it on the table and scrambled towards the rounded window. Versaille. Its palace towered against rocky mountains and dunes licked with salt and erosion. It was majestic, glittering from the inside by all the bejewelled furniture and the unbelievable amount of glass. Julietta was awed. If this was meant to intimidate enemies and other regencies… well, they’ve succeeded. She was meant to woo the prince of _this_ kingdom? Staring down at her green gown, she realised how horribly underdressed she was. They should have chosen the red one. Self-consciously, she tugged on her lace gloves and hoped it would conceal her clammy hands. 

_Please_ , she wished upon the Northern Star, _make me one of you. Or a wave in the ocean if that suits you best._

But then the boat went ashore and the Star had no time to fullfill her wish. She was ripped from her cabin by Maria as guards carried her trunks. Quickly, she told Maria how afraid she was, how she didn’t want to go forth, how she wanted to go back home. 

‘I’d rather try on more dresses with you,’ she added, hoping it would charm the woman. 

Maria brushed a curl from Julietta’s shoulder and tapped her chin. ‘No whining. That’s not attractive, princess.’

Beautifully adorned carriages brought them to the front of the castle where the royal family awaited them. Everyone, except the king that is. He was still sick in bed.

Julietta hid behind the tiny Maria as the approached the family, her father in the front as a flurry of French sang from his lips. He had a strong Almas accent, but Julietta found that to be endearing. It made him human. He kissed queen Madeleine on the cheek and shook hands with the right hand men of the king. Then, her gaze wandered to the left and fell on a handful of children, ending with the tallest one all the way in the end. She knew it when she saw him. Prince Nicholas. Tall, blonde, fair-skinned, blue eyes. Like a knight from her novels. Oh. So Flynn _was_ right. Still, that didn’t mean the boy was nice.

He caught her gaze and a smile appeared. Not reserved, but genuine either way. She smiled back. Julietta wondered what he thought of the arrangement. Did he know it was a rendez-vous? Did he know her father’s intentions? Or did he simply think the Las Almas family were guests? The more she pondered, the uglier everything about this felt. She hated dishonesty.

‘And the beguiling princess,’ Queen Madeleine gushed. She promptly kissed both of Julietta’s cheeks. ‘You are absolutely stunning.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, still unsure whether her green dress was appropriate. The queen’s disarming nature did ease her a little. 

‘I’m sure you’re tired from being on that boat for two days. Come, I’ll show you your room.’

The queen led the Las Almas group around just a fraction of the palace. The main entrance, which was tiled with glossy marble and gold encrusted walls, crystal chandeliers precariously hanging from thin chains. Flickering candles illuminated every step they took and bathed the swirling staircases in a decadent yellow glow. Julietta loved her gothic palace dearly, but it was a stark contrast against this baroque mammoth. The staircases continued the shiny marble and gave way to even more opulent hallways filled with art and sculptures from French artists and, most peculiar, stuffed animals from the African planes. From afar, she saw a lion mid-roar. Julietta never thought she’d see one in Versaille. She wouldn’t be surprised if it scared her when she walked by tomorrow. 

The sweeping hallways finally went into the guests quarters. 

‘This is your room, Julietta.’ The queen opened the door and revealed a room enveloped in pink. Pink curtains and bedding and cushions and chairs. She loved pink, but it overwhelmed her a bit. 

She smiled. ‘It’s beautiful. Thank you.’

‘If you need anything, just ring the bell.’ She nodded at the bell with a thick rope hung from the wall. It must be connected to the quarters of the help. 

‘Where will lady Maria sleep?’, Julietta asked. Maria shook her head, almost bashful by her concern. 

The queen gave a dismissive wave. ‘In the quarters of the help, obviously. Don’t worry, she’s in good hands.’

‘Okay,’ she muttered and nodded at her father. ‘Good night, uh, everyone.’

The group let out a chuckle, as if they found what she said funny, and continued their stroll through the quarter. She hoped to be close to everyone. It was quite scary sleeping alone in a place she didn’t know. 

The last one, prince Nicholas, meandered in her threshold. Her eyes widened. Oh. Did he see how miserable she looked for a moment? Did she _already_ mess up? She mustered all the poise her mother once had and smiled. 

‘Good night, prince Nicholas.’

He stepped forward, both hands locked behind his back as he kept his eyes focused on her. She didn’t know whether to feel uncomfortable or flattered. ‘I just wanted to say you look becoming in green.’

Her breath hitched. She hadn’t expected for him to be so… smooth. ‘Oh. Thank you. You look nice in blue as well.’

When he was about to say more, she cut him off. ‘Is that all?’ 

He ducked his head, charmed, and grinned. ‘Thank you, and yes, that is all. Good night princess Julietta.’

Finally, he left and she was able to close the door with a relieved sigh. It was nice to be back on land. No wobbly legs or food being turned in her stomach. She whirled around her room, taking in all the small elegant details she didn’t notice before, like the golden rim around the chestnut desk and the tassels on the armoire, how the carpet beneath her tired feet portrayed a pond, dribbling water and fish springing out quite realistically. She traced a bridge with her toes, amused. And then she looked up, gasping. 

They’ve painted the stars. Her ceiling curved from the static walls in a rounded ceiling and there, in the middle, the galaxy within her reach. She laughed, incredulous, and shrugged her shoes off. Jumping on the bed, she tested a small jump, and when it didn’t cause creaking, she tried taking a big leap like Catalina and stretch her arm as far as she could. Unfortunately, she was not as agile, tall or quick as the ballerina and fell smack on her bed, guffawing from the impact. A storm of giggles, staring at the ceiling. Despite everything, this was a pretty surprise. Julietta wouldn’t mind staring at the stars while she tried to sleep.

Her mother taught her, along with dozens of other skills, about the stars. About the constellations and new discoveries and how to use a telescope and how big the world actually was. 

‘Galileo proved what Copernicus was trying to say,’ mother explained to a too little Julietta. ‘More or less, at least. Copernicus still wanted to adhere to Platonic beliefs and kind of told the truth, but Galileo went the entire way. He ignored taboo and dogma and he went with his gut. And his gut was right.’ She heard the smile in her mother’s tone. Her gaze went from the boundless, dazzling night sky to her mom. They were laying on the same field as before, now cloaked in darkness. ‘Always go with your gut, Julietta. It’s candor. The only truth you should follow. And if you do… the rest will come easy.’ 

With her eyes, she followed the Big and Little Dipper, Orion’s Belt and the bow of the Sagittarius. She kept finding patterns until her sight blurred and her cheek sunk into the pillow. Too tired to undress, she turned to her side that was the least comfortable with a dress like this, and fell into a deep sleep. 

Her decision made Maria grumble the next morning when she came in and saw the state Julietta was in. A string of Spanish about how unlady-like it was, how this dress cost more than she could ever imagine, how it was an insult to the seamstresses, and so on and so forth. All the while, a bleary Julietta bit into the piece of toast Maria brought. By the end of her tirade, she smiled that smile that fooled any minister and said: ‘You love me.’

‘Just get out of that dress.’

The hour that followed, Julietta was scrubbed and polished, every nail rounded to perfection, every out of place hair plucked away, lotioned and perfumed until Maria was overwhelmed by the aroma herself. She smelled like strawberries and her hair like peaches. She made a joke about it, how she could stand next to a tray of Turkish Delights and no one would know the difference, which got Maria to smile for a brief moment. For Julietta, that was a victory.

But then dread settled again when Maria was done and Julietta looked, well, beautiful. That wasn’t supposed to happen! She had to look as hideous as possible to ward off the prince. 

Maria caught her face in the mirror. ‘Don’t frown.’

Julietta turned in her chair, away from the vanity. ‘Maria, did you hear me last night?’

‘You said a lot last night.’

‘Yes.’ Staring down at her buffed nails, she continued: ‘About my dismay towards the situation.’ 

‘No speck of worry, princess. The prince will be enamoured the moment he lays his eyes on you today.’

‘That’s what I’m worried about, Maria,’ she sighed, peering back into the mirror and scrutinising every pore on her face. The longer she looked, the less human she seemed. ‘I don’t want to be betrothed to prince Nicholas.’

‘Well, suitors aren’t lining up because of your reserved nature, princess,’ she put bluntly. ‘They’re put off by how much time you spent with your lady-in-waiting.’

‘Because she’s my lady-in-waiting or because she has a darker complexion than we do?’, Julietta fired back, pounding her fist against the wood. 

‘Princess Julietta!’, Maria admonished. 

She clenched her jaw. ‘It’s the truth, isn’t it?’

It was no lie that even an idyllic island like Las Almas had their prejudices. Every beautiful flower had its ugly weeds to counter, and for them, it was how some pulled their noses up when she strolled with Flynn around the grounds. She told her father, once, but he had dismissed her complaint. She’d spoken about hatred and harmony, him not budging. Carlos then swiftly changed the conversation about his game of soccer. It made her scream in her pillow after, wishing a vicious curse onto her father that he’d lose his ears by a sea witch. (It didn’t happen, but for a moment, she felt good. Her rage equally terrified and enthralled her.) 

‘You are twisting the subject into something very ugly,’ she hissed. ‘We do not talk about these things in the Versaillan castle, understood? Do _not_ twist someone’s words. Have I not taught you better?’ She harshly stuck another pin in Julietta’s hairdo. ‘You _will_ be nice to the prince. A disappointed king Raymond is a disappointed Las Almas.’

Resigned, she nodded. Whenever Maria put down her foot, there was no room to budge. ‘Yes, lady Maria.’

She saw the prince again when they were touring around the gallery wing of the castle. Apparently, what she saw last night was just a small taste of what the palace harboured. Endless collections of art from all era’s. Botticelli’s paintings and scrolls from Wagner and sculptures from when Ovid was alive. For Julietta, it was like a table of delectables spread out in front of her, her eager eyes absorbing everything she saw, and even then it wasn’t enough. If she was permitted, she’d come back later with a pencil and paper and sketch the faces of the Dutch Primitives. She was enraptured by its beauty and detail. Julietta painted and drew in her free time, but they didn’t have an extensive collection of art to draw inspiration from in the Las Almas palace. If only she could actually capture an image of the paintings to hold onto forever.

‘Are you mesmerised, princess Julietta?’ Suddenly, the prince has found a way to stand next to her, the pair trailing behind the others as she had taken her time to look at everything closely. She hadn’t even noticed it until now. 

Deciding to follow Maria’s advice and at least be kind, she nodded excitedly. ‘Yes! Your family has the most wonderful collection of art I’ve ever seen.’

He chuckled, his blonde hair almost white in the midday sun. ‘I’m sure the craftsmen on the Las Almas island have a lot to offer.’

‘We don’t have a Botticelli hanging around,’ she joked. 

‘Oh, really? I reckon I just saw him in the kitchen,’ he teased. She laughed, shaking her head at the silly quip and turned back to the paintings. She recognised the “Rapture of Proserpina” by Giordano, one of her favourite most tragical stories of all time. Curious, she edged closer. It seemed like an impossible task, painting a colossal scene like this. 

‘Would you care for a walk around the palace gardens?’, he proposed. He held out the crook of his arm. She supposed it wasn’t a question. Throwing a longing stare at Proserpina over her shoulder, she said yes and held onto his elbow. The stiff fabric of his coat kept a safe distance. 

While the palace made her gasp at every turn of the corner, Julietta could proudly proclaim Las Almas had better gardens. Theirs simply were… impersonal. Trimmed and structured and nothing wild or romantical about the landscaping. If it were Flynn on her side, she’d giggle and gossip about it. If it were Luke, she’d so something even more radical and push him in a bush or something. A smile edged on her lips. Lukas. She hoped her friend wasn’t bored without her visits.

‘Do you like your room?’

‘I do, thank you.’

‘When mother notified me the princess of Las Almas was coming, I didn’t expect you to be as beguiling as you are.’

The sudden shift of conversation, as well as his strictly formal register of speak, startled her. Did he not talk a bit more relaxed around people his age?

‘How old are you, prince Nicholas?’

‘Twenty,’ he supplied. 

A year older than Lukas. The latter looked older though. She couldn’t stop the words from flooding out. ‘Do you always talk so proper around people like us?’

He laughed, surprised by her comment. ‘I suppose I do. Haven’t you been taught to do so as well?’

She frowned. ‘Well, yes, but my friends and I prefer something more… casual sometimes.’

‘Has Queen Adèle been reincarnated?’, he joked, but it didn’t quite land. Did he just compare her to a decadent traitor of Versaille from before their time? Biting her tongue, she kept the pleasing smile on her lips. _Be clement_ , she heard a voice suspiciously similar to her father command in her mind.

When she didn’t say anything, he swiftly moved passed it. ‘Are you feverish for the ball in two days?’

‘I do like to dance,’ Julietta uttered. _Just not with you_ . His smile was a bit too crooked and his eyes the wrong shade of blue, and she knew it was horribly vain of her to think that, but it was simply the truth. Prince Nicholas was _nice_. Nothing he has done has swept her off her feet yet.

‘Can I be frank and tell you I’m excited to dance with you?’

Julietta smiled, a little sad. There was nothing but an empty feeling swirling in her heart. How tragic. ‘You may. That is very kind of you.’

Their conversation flowed in and out of interesting topics. Every time she tried to lead it into something stimulating for the mind, like art and literature and politics, he returned back to superficialities like her beauty or his upcoming coronation or the ball. By the end of their stroll, she was close to fuming. Had this boy nothing better to say than the word “beguiling”? Now that she thought of it, their entire talk had been in French. Not once had he uttered a Spanish word - and Las Almas didn’t count. By the last turn of the corner and the entrance came back into view, she attempted one final time and spoke about the architecture of the palace. How baroque suited the landscape and complemented their lighter features. 

‘Just wait until you see the ballroom!’

Julietta sighed and nodded. Alright. Mortification didn’t come close to how she felt. _This_ was the man her father wanted her to marry? A man that couldn’t keep a conversation going or comfortably discuss important topics with her? She’d rather be an ugly spinster for the rest of her life. She’d rather become part of the help with Flynn, a lady-in-waiting for a princess that did enjoy mindless talk. After he walked her to her room and kissed her gloved hand, which she quickly pulled to her side, she was left alone. 

This was horrible. This was really, really horrible. Prince Nicholas was interested in her and he was as plain as unbuttered bread. If he did enjoy something, he didn’t show it. Was it because she was a girl? Did he think she was dim? The more she mulled, the angrier she got. All the prince seemed to care about was how pretty she was (which, she realised with gritted teeth, was probably because of that cursed peach shampoo) and holding up a certain image around the grounds. Julietta was certain it enamoured other girls, Caroline for that matter, but it just didn’t sit right with her. She needed someone wilder, someone that rid her of all her inhibitions with just a smirk and made her heart pound in her throat. Julietta wanted all-encompassing forest fires - no flickering candle.

By dinner, she has resigned herself to wishing prince Nicholas was at the very least a decent dancer. She deserved that much. The table was filled with meat and glistening vegetables on silver plates, golden cutlery and crystal glasses that rang when nails touched the rim. Red wine was set in front of her. Julietta enjoyed a glass, but wished to share it with Carlos (lengthened with water, obviously) and Flynn. She got horribly dizzy after two and didn’t want to make a scene. 

‘Prince Nicholas told me about your stroll,’ the queen commented lightly. Her father sent her a proud nod. ‘I hope it pleased you.’

‘Yes,’ Julietta smiled, feeling Nicholas’ hot stare on her temple. ‘It was lovely.’

‘Julietta loves nature,’ Raymond said, spearing his steak. ‘Always out on adventures.’

Madeleine’s smile widened. ‘How exciting! Nicholas needs someone to pull him out of his study sometimes.’

The prince made a face. ‘Mother.’

‘What?’, she chuckled and gave Julietta a knowing look as if they’ve been friends forever. She didn’t know how to react. ‘It’s true.’

Was this what Julietta has been reduced to? The one to pull the man out of his study where he enriched his mind but didn’t want to share that knowledge with her? She wanted to cry. The remainder of dinner was kept light by small talk between Madeleine and Raymond and the occasional off-hand comment by one of the children. Normally, it would make her laugh, especially when the youngest, Charlotte, threw a piece of broccoli at a brother and stuck her tongue out. But nothing could cheer her up. She was terribly homesick. Not even the painted stars could console her that night, chest aching for comfort. 

Day two, she avoided everyone like the plague. She went to breakfast, lunch and dinner, but refused a visit to the city and claimed she had a headache. Maria had been muttering how childish she was acting, but frankly: Julietta didn’t care. One more dull conversation and she’d scratch her eyes out. When no one was looking, she ran to find the library and was delighted when she did. Towering bookcases from floor to ceiling flanked the walls, tall windows that illuminated every title stamped in gold, sturdy wooden tables and plush, velvet chairs to lounge around in. A maid was dusting the third aisle, but didn’t comment on her arrival. Without asking, she knew that the princess needed her space. 

Dropping the feigned headache, she wandered around the aisles and brushed the spines of books lovingly. Her world could go up in flames, but at least she had her other worlds to escape to. Julietta wished she was inventive enough to create stories of her own, but each time she tried, it was a weak decoction of something that already existed. 

Wandering deeper into the library, she came across a section she didn’t expect: Las Almas music and songs from civilisations that came before them. All original manuscripts or old copies. Her heartbeat went frenzy at what she beheld. She knew that centuries ago the Court of Versaille was an empire and claimed the art of every place they they foot, but she never realised Las Almas included their path. This was her history! And they had it! Was that even allowed? Shouldn’t it be in the libraries of her island? She shook the thought away and grabbed a thick, leather-bound book with _Canciones de Troya_ pressed in sterling.

When Julietta was old enough and wholly obsessed with her mother’s libretto performances, she pleaded to teach her how to sing, how to play the piano. While her mother had been more concerned teaching her about science and art, she was more than pleased to add artistic skills to the list. She called Julietta a “little Da Vinci” and then, the next day, flung the girl into extensive lessons about music. Soon, they realised Julietta was quite gifted. She has always had a loud, clear voice, which complemented emotional ballads well. Her mother had been in awe and called her a prodigy. Since she was seven, Julietta sang at Christmas and Easter when the palace held soirées and banquets - with and without her mother. Rosalinda was still the starlet, but her daughter rivalled her talent by the time she was ten. Her father and mother had long discussions about putting her in music school instead of continuing her formal education, but with her father having the final word, she stayed in the palace. Julietta often wondered how her life would’ve turned out if she played and trained with the best of the Southern Seas. Would she be in this predicament now? Fearing her potential betrothal to a Versaillan prince? Or would she be wild and free in a pub somewhere in Saxon, singing old folk tales and dancing with her skirt hitched to her knees? 

When her mother died, Julietta stopped singing for pleasure. She kept the façade during Christmas and Easter, but that was it. Instead, she fell into drawing and painting. It didn’t have the same magical effect that singing had, but it often calmed her down when she was mad, so she supposed it was enough. 

On the second day, Julietta rediscovered that spark inside of her that had been dormant for so long. She didn’t sing, but if someone with a keen ear listened carefully, they’d hear a melodic hum coming from the corner of the library.

The third day she was once again woken up by the sardonic grin of Maria. 

‘No headache, princess?’

Julietta smiled, smug. ‘I feel very refreshed, thank you.’

Outside was the hustle and bustle of the help scurrying around to get the ballroom in order for tonight. Chandeliers had to be polished to glittering perfection, millions of macarons had to be filled with chocolate, suits and dresses had to fitted. Far away, she heard the hum of the string quartet practising their polkas and waltzes. She wished Reginald was here. One familiar face would do her good - even if that face was obscured by a cello. 

‘You have bags under your eyes.’

‘Oh, Maria,’ Julietta gushed while the woman pulled her out of bed and led her to the tub. ‘I read the most wonderful book yesterday! Did you know the Court has a full collection of books about Las Almas?’

‘I didn’t,’ Maria mumbled, unfazed. ‘Step in - careful!’

As her lady washed her hair, Julietta kept babbling. ‘I think you’d love to look around when you’re done. There’s so much I didn’t know that I do now, and I know how much you respect knowledge! Did you know that we have ancestors to Troy? The city with the walls made of gold?’

‘Do we?’ Her tone was lighter now. Julietta took this as encouragement to continue. 

‘Yes! Well, perhaps it’s a _bit_ fictionalised, but it might be true. The tragical Hecuba, mother of Paris and Hector, might have come from Las Almas.’ When Maria didn’t reply, Julietta sunk deeper into the foamy water. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t ramble.’

Maria chuckled, massaging her locks with shampoo. ‘It’s fine, princess. I’m happy you’re in a good mood.’

‘I’m happy to talk to someone that likes these things.’

‘What?’ The woman halted her movements. 

She bit her cheek. ‘Nothing.’ 

‘Are you saying prince Nicholas isn’t a good conversationalist?’ It didn’t sound accusing, rather worrisome. Did Maria for once actually listen to what she had to say? Julietta took the leap and nodded. 

‘Not once did he try to speak Spanish, Maria! Shouldn’t he know our language too?’ Crossing her arms, she added: ‘Seems fair to me.’

Before Maria could reply, she quipped up again, that flickering rage from the first day flaring up. ‘And another thing! He doesn’t want to talk with me about _anything_ important! It was horribly dull, Maria. I’d rather watch paint dry and that would still be more productive than listening to how “beguiling” I am.’

‘It’s a compliment.’

Julietta harrumphed. ‘I deserve more than an empty compliment.’

Maria was silent after that. Julietta didn’t know if she went too far, but at least the eight was lifted off her chest. Someone knew what she was feeling, someone had actively listened and could take over if something went awry. She _needed_ someone on her side. 

‘I wish I could help, princess,’ she muttered later, when Julietta was gripping the bed while Maria laced up her corset. ‘You are indeed more than just “beguiling”. But this is your duty.’

Emotion lodged her throat at Maria’s earnest words. She whirled around, half-dressed, and hugged the lady, tight. The woman gasped and cautiously placed her arms on the princess’s back. 

‘Thank you,’ Julietta whispered. 

Julietta was more than a pretty face and all she ever needed was someone confirming that. She needed someone to tell her she was fit for more than just reproduction and smiling and making appearances at the theatre. Julietta was monumental and loud and angry and passionate and everything in between. She deserved to _be_ everything. On her own terms. 

But Maria was right. This was her duty. She was born into the role as princess with all its privileges and riches, and in return, she had to help her kingdom maintain its power. It was fair. 

At least she had the knowledge of how powerful she truly was. If she did unfortunately end up with prince Nicholas, then maybe she could steer the Court of Versaille to a better place. (Maybe put him in his place for not knowing Spanish - idiot!) 

‘I know you’d rather not hear it right now,’ Maria said, dusting powder on her nose, ‘but you look stunning, princess.’

The woman moved away and the princess had a clear view of herself in the mirror. Her purple gown was truly a showstopper. Royal purple, a long bell shaped skirt with a two meter diameter and fitted bust. Strapless, with tulle clouding around the bust and across her upper arms. Her skin was lathered in shimmering golden lotion and crystals were weaved between her curls. Pearls clung to her temples and made her look like a fairy. Her heels, a demure opera slipper, were covered by the skirt and low enough for her to dance with ease. 

Julietta almost didn’t recognise herself. 

(For a second, she wondered if Lukas would.) 

The ball had gathered an audience by the time Julietta and Maria descended down the stairs of the guest quarters to the main hallway. Thick laughter and music and flitting images of debonair men in suits. Nerves tickled her breath. 

She turned back to her maid. ‘I’m not overdressed, am I?’

The woman shook her head, gentle. ‘You look perfect, princess. Like a dream.’

‘Merci beaucoup,’ she whispered.

Maria gave her a little nudge. ‘Allez-y.’

Julietta nodded, took a deep breath, steeled her nerves and veiled her features with a pleasant smile. A Versaillan guard noticed her and motioned to follow him. She looked over her shoulder, but Maria was already gone. It was time to stand on her own. 

Queen Madeleine awaited her on the other side of the door, her dress even more ostentatious and dazzling than Julietta’s. A fresh green, with hundreds of layers of frills and a bejewelled neckline far richer than the simple pearls on her skin. The queen reminded her of a dahlia.

‘Prince Nicholas will not be able to keep his eyes off of you,’ she whispered as the guard announced her name to the crowd. All eyes were on her. 

Frightened, Julietta whispered back, ‘And you are okay with that, queen Madeleine?’ 

‘Of course! Your father and I have discussed it extensively. You’re a great match. Now, off you go! Have fun!’

With poise, Julietta descended another set of stairs, the golden balustrade carved with leaves and birds, as she met her father’s approving stare. He took her hand and twirled her under his arm.

He grinned. ‘You look gorgeous, my flower.’

She smiled, humbled. ‘Thank you, father.’

Then, without having to wait, prince Nicholas reached their side and held his hand out. She had been quite curious about the macarons, but she supposed that had to wait now. 

‘The polka is about to commence,’ he said. ‘Would you do me the honour of joining me?’

Julietta looked from his hopeful gaze to the eager one of her father’s and to the gushing look of Madeleine to the whispering on-lookers around the room and realised that she didn’t have a choice. 

‘Yes.’ She slipped her hand in his, soft and unblemished. It felt wrong. ‘I’d love to.’ 

They went to the other couples and completed the circle. 

‘You look-’

‘Beguiling?’

Nicholas chuckled. Julietta tried to find the joke. ‘I suppose I do say that a lot.’

The musicians started the interlude to the polka and the group came into motion, walking in a circle. ‘It’s “encantadora” in Spanish, if you must know.’ 

They began skipping, quick steps up and down as the music fastened. ‘I didn’t.’ He gave her an odd look. ‘But thank you.’

The music came to its full height, his arm slipping around her waist and her hand on his shoulder, turning around their axis as they kept circling with the group. It’s was dizzying and loud and would’ve been much more fun with a desirable dance partner. Nicholas wasn’t bad, but the way he just looked at her… it felt like he gave _nothing_ about her island, her culture. 

She tried again. ‘Do you know _any_ Spanish?’

‘Why must I?’ His oblivious, light smile didn’t waver. ‘French is the language most spoken in the Lucian Sea.’

‘It’s English actually,’ she heard herself say, Luke’s voice echoing in the back of her mind. 

Nicholas shook his head, apologetic. ‘Amongst the higher class, I mean. My apologies.’ He swiftly turned her under his arm, head rapidly spotting, and swung her back into the dance. His hand laid uncomfortably on her waist. She wanted out.

‘Don’t you want to speak to your people in a language they all understand?’

‘Liberal ideas, huh?’ He chuckled. ‘Have you been reading about that Amelia Bloomer?’

Her heels clacked on the ground harshly. ‘If you’re asking if I have a bloomer suit, yes.’ 

Raising his brows as if he’d just seen a stranger run around naked, he muttered: ‘You wear… trousers?’

They went to stand on a line and Julietta grasped his side, slowing down again. With their eyes levelled, it felt like she was having a tennis match for power. She wasn’t going to blink first. They turned slowly. ‘I do. It’s very comfortable, don’t you think?’

Quick footwork for the final minute commenced, Julietta whirling around as he expertly lead the dance. She was done hanging onto his arm. She didn’t want to disappoint, but she simply couldn’t _do_ it anymore. Her father surely would understand, right? 

(A fib, visible from a kilometer away. Her dad would be _livid_.) 

Finally, after that gruelling minute, the polka ended and the couples gave each other a reserved bow. Nicholas seemed rather conflicted either, unsure how a traditional dance ended with a conversation like this. She wondered if he had always been seen as this wunderkind who could do no wrong and then, consequently, believed it. Prince Nicholas only had thoughts others had chewed for him and that, Julietta decided, was quite pathetic. 

Ha. Prince Nicholas Auguste of the Court of Versaille was _pathetic_.

The princess stifled a giggle and went back to stand with her father. He, on the other hand, seemed angered. She straightened up. He couldn’t already know about what had transpired? He didn’t have magical hearing abilities. 

‘Julietta,’ he whispered, sharper than stalactite. ‘The last thing I wanted to see today was confusion on prince Nicholas his face.’

She stuck her nose up. In this ballroom, he couldn’t do anything to her. ‘Father, I simply made him privy he’s unfit to rule if he doesn’t even speak English or Spanish.’

Father stared at her like she just lost her head. ‘ _You_ … made him _privy_ that he’d be a bad ruler?’

‘Yes.’ She matched his tone, mustering all the authority she had in her body. ‘I’ll be blunt and say that I think I’d be better.’

The staring match lasted all of five seconds before his iron grip snatched her arm and dragged her towards the stage. Julietta withheld a gasp, not wanting to make a scene, and forcefully went along. For a second, she wondered if she could just bite his hand off. 

He pulled her close until their noses were nearly touching, eyes simmering red and teeth bared. ‘You are going to sing right now and impress the prince before you ruin it for all so Las Almas.’

The breath was knocked out of her. ‘But father-’

‘Don’t.’

‘It’s not Christmas or Easter,’ she argued, frowning. ‘I thought tradition was important?’

‘Traditions change.’ He hoisted her onstage and motioned for one of the musicians to come forth. Soon, they attracted the attention of everyone in the room. Julietta was mortified, unable to find steady footing on the raised flooring.

‘She’s going to sing,’ the king said. 

The musician nodded. ‘Anything in mind, princess Julietta?’ Surprisingly, he regarded her in Spanish. It almost made her smile. 

‘Father, I done have anything prepared.’ Her eyes flitted to the inquisitive crowd, heads tilting with intrigue. How much more would she be tormented?! 

He dismissed her worry. ‘You’re always with your nose in a book. Surely you have something.’

‘Uh-’ She wracked her brain for something, anything, that fit the occasion. A Christmas or Easter song wouldn’t do - they were Katholic songs and Julietta was very certain Versaillan people weren’t. Was there a particular poem that stuck to her? A story? Her gaze wandered towards the buffet, with the macarons that she still hasn’t tasted, when she focused on the sterling plates. Sterling. That was it! 

Julietta perked up, pleased her father wasn’t going to throw her in the dungeon just yet, and said: ‘Excuse me, could I play your lovely harpsichord?’

Surprised, the musician nodded. ‘Of course, princess!’ 

Yesterday, when she found the book of songs about Troy, one had enraptured her the moment she laid her eyes on the first verse. It was the song of the tragical Cassandra, how her emotional wounds couldn’t be salvaged and went mad from grief and vengeance. It was in Spanish and had a completely unique cadence. Never had she seen such art before. If she sang Cassandra’s Ballad, then the prince would either be impressed _or_ be put off by the Spanish lyrics. Julietta decided to take the risk. 

She sat behind the harpsichord, the other instruments dying down, and gave a dazzling smile to the audience. None had to know how terrified she was. 

‘Hello. I will be singing a song from my country, “La tragedia de Cassandra”, as it is near and dear to my heart.’

The party-goers shuffled closer, curious, which Julietta took as a sign to start. Her hands hovered above the keys. 

_Always trust your gut, Julietta._

She opened her mouth, her soulful voice breaking through and bouncing from the walls. It starts low and ominous, like a cautionary tale from long forgotten times. Beware of the mad women, it whispered. The interlude, rich notes that flowed from her fingertips, filled the spaces where she took a breath. Her body went with the instrument, swaying, as if she were slowly becoming entranced by the sound, a spell rapturing her spirit. The violins and trumpets joined in, following her cadence expertly. 

Her voice soared by the chorus, the cries of women yelling to be heard, saying: _Don’t you see?! Don’t you see not to mess with me?! I am thunder! I am terrifying!_ Julietta wailed the lyrics, with ease going from her chest to her head voice. Her hands jammed into the harpsichord, the chords messier and chaotic and angry - so, so angry. Cassandra was Julietta and the instruments and the musicians and the ballroom and the entire Court of Versaille. Cassandra’s maddening speech spilled into the bridge, the music becoming staccato and even more estranging. Like swords clattering in medieval battles or wizards bewitching innocent maidens.

The final verse went into a crescendo, harpsichord coming to a halt as the trumpets and cellos and violins and flutes crashed and warred for attention. Julietta, now completely possessed by the soul of Cassandra, yelled the lyrics in agony, staggering across the stage and staring wickedly at anyone who dared looking at her. The music filled her chest with power and rage and spite and bitter glee. The glass broke, ears shattered, people teetered into one another, the room shifted and tilted on its head, one falling into a cake, another out the window - screaming. Julietta sang and sang and sang until there was no one left but she. 

Tears silently trickled down her cheeks when it was over, heaving and doubled over despite her corset. Her hair, once coiffed to perfection, now hung limp on her shoulders. Blurred memories of a ginger haired woman taken out of a palace with golden walls crossed her mind, a devilish smile winking at her. Julietta almost winked back. Thank you, Cassandra, for visiting us tonight. 

She touched her lips and pulled back in surprise. Blood stained her fingertips. Looking up at the audience, they all stared at her in frightened shock, husbands keeping their wives behind their shoulders and queen Madeleine, all the way in the corner, praying as she was surrounded by guards. Nicholas stood alone. He looked like he was about to vomit. 

A chuckle left her lips, the mania still somewhat present. Mission accomplished. 

A rough hand pulled her off stage and she let it. It dragged her down the ballroom and dumped her into the hallway. It was her father. He was completely stunned, zero words as he kept making hand motions to try and find anything to say. 

‘Room,’ he finally said. ‘Now.’

Julietta laughed, louder than she had done in days, and skipped up the stairs in victory, the flag of Las Almas fluttering behind her in spirit. When she reached her room and found the awaiting lady Maria stare at her in shock at the state the princess was in, she laughed again. 

‘It was a _wonderful_ party, Maria.’

***

_I have found that love comes in the form of many things. A smile, a song, an impassioned speech, a swipe against someone’s cheek, a kiss. I wonder how you will love me._

*** 

Her steps were quick. Flitting past guards and maids and cooks with muffled giggles as she found the hidden alcove that lead to the gardens.

Finally, Julietta Rose Molina was home again.

After her grand performance at the Court of Versaille, her father prohibited her to be seen by anyone from the palace and had apparently apologised deeply numerous times for her “wicked” behaviour. She tried explaining how she had simply been embodying the character of Cassandra and that she did what he asked of her, but he was inconsolable. He threatened burning all her books and locking her in her room, but in the end decided to not talk to her for a while. Julietta didn’t mind. Her plan has worked regardless. There was no chance in this life or after that Nicholas would want to marry her. He was terrified! As he should! 

They were back on the ferry before dawn and two days later, saw Las Almas blinking at them on the horizon. Her chest was instantly filled with warmth and affection. _These_ were her people. There were the trees and stones and smells she adored so much.

Flynn awaited her by the palace gates, Julietta springing out of her carriage before it stopped and flung herself into the arms of her bosom friend. 

‘I missed you so much!’, Julietta exclaimed, squeezing the life out of her friend.

Flynn laughed. ‘I missed you more!’

‘Impossible!’

‘Try me!’

After, when the maids unpacked her trunks and Flynn left her to rest after the tiring trip at sea, Julietta snuck out of her room. There was one person in particular she yearned to see. 

At sea, Julietta had time to think. The simple truth occurred to her that life would be meaningless without friendship. A husband was _nothing_ compared to a companion she could share her secrets and joys with. While the princess still wanted to be swept of her feet and marry the love of her life, a universe without that… didn’t seem so bad anymore. Who needed a stuffy husband and a kingdom when she had a friend like Lukas? 

Lukas had been on her mind constantly. With Nicholas no long hindersome, the stable boy had been flooding her thoughts with his dopey smile and grinning, glittering eyes in just the right shade of blue. It was silly to be daydreaming of him, but she has yet found the right word for what she felt during their encounter in the sundrenched meadow. What she was certain of, was that Luke was a friend. One that still had time to bloom into a deep camaraderie. 

She passed the rose maze and the recreational fields and the fountains and sculptures, when she finally reached the stables. There was a rumble inside. Julietta grinned, flattened her skirt, and skipped inside the shed. 

‘Hey, Lukas! I - oh.’

There, cloaked in the shadows, was the tall figure of Alexander hovering over another man. Julietta froze, realising she has stepped into an intimate rendez-vous. An _illegal_ rendez-vous. 

‘Princess Julietta!’, Alexander squeaked, burning red and dropping to his knees. The other guard followed suit, less recognisable. He must be a new recruit. With his tanned skin and slanted eyes, he must be from the Caspian Empire. 

‘Please forgive us for our indecent behaviour,’ he muttered, eyes shit tight. ‘Please grace us with your goodwill and not punish us for our deeds.’

She came out of her stupor, mind catching up to what she just saw. What crime they committed. The princess swallowed back the words she was supposed to say, conflicted. It was mandatory to report crimes such as these, but Julietta never snitched. And didn’t she always tell Flynn she’d make her life better as queen? Didn’t that also include men like Alexander and the guard?

‘Uh-’

‘Princess Julietta,’ the other quipped. ‘It was my fault. Please, don’t punish guard Alexander for my wicked mind. I’ll leave the castle.’

Alexander’s face twisted into a pained grimace, muscles tightening under his coat. He was close to tears, which told Julietta everything she needed to know. He was one of the best guards she has ever seen, most loyal and never showing signs of weakness. But here, when his lover was about to be banished from the castle, he cracked. What he felt was true and that was more than enough for her. 

Julietta smiled, gentle. ‘What’s your name?’

His eyes widened. ‘William, princess.’

‘Be careful, Alexander and William,’ she warned, eyes gleaming with mirth. ‘Someone might see. But me? I didn’t see a _thing_.’

Relieved grins broke onto their faces, Alexander wiping a lone tear from his cheek. Julietta grinned with them, excited to be in on the secret. Who else knew? Was she the only one? Did Lukas and Reginald know? 

William came closer. ‘We owe us your life.’

‘You already do,’ she replied lightly. ‘That’s your job, no?’

His tanned cheeks darkened. ‘Yes. Of course.’

‘I’d say to go back to your positions. And find a better spot to rendez-vous. Understood?’ Her tone was one her father so often used, mighty and forceful. But now, they smiled and nodded. William and Alexander were barely any older than her - they deserved to love and be loved just as much as she did. How could anyone hate them for their actions when they looked so happy? 

The guards left, leaving Julietta standing in the shed alone as she glowed with pride. _She_ made an executive decision! _She_ saved two lives today! Her life was on the uprise!

‘Julie?’

She turned around with a dazzling smile, delighted to hear his voice again. He looked even better than when she left, his skin more tanned by the summer sun peeking through. His hands held a crate of carrots. 

She grinned, coming into the light. ‘Luke!’

His smile widened, dropping the crate on the ground and approached her. ‘You’re back!’

‘Missed me too much?’, she teased, edging even closer. There was this undeniable blazing in her body every time he was around - not unlike firework. If his smile became too bright she might explode!

He rolled his eyes. ‘You just want to hear me say it.’

Perhaps she did. Instead, she shrugged and eagerly nodded to her right. ‘Would you like to go the pond? Catch up?’

Luke’s soft hold on her wrist was the answer she needed. 

‘So,’ he said, dipping his feet into the cold water. His pants were rolled up to his knees as he waded deeper into the pond. The pond was the furthest place anyone could be on the grounds and still have a pleasant conversation. It was small and round, fish merrily swimming about and large willow trees casting shadows. Most importantly, it hid them from any guards that might travel too far. Julietta sat on the side, feet tucked beneath her, as she watched Luke stumble over slippery rocks. She chuckled. 

‘How was the snobby ball?’ He looked up and wiggled his brows dramatically. 

‘The snobbiest,’ she sighed. ‘You would’ve made it far more entertaining.’

Luke almost looked offended. ‘What?’

‘Well, you’re a jester, obviously,’ she teased. ‘And you could’ve helped me make fun of their people. They don’t even like Las Almas people. Least of all the prince.’

The boy stilled his motions, as if she just told him someone died. ‘Prince?’

‘Yes.’ She plucked her shoes from her feet, rolling her eyes. ‘Prince Nicholas. The number one snob. Trust me, Luke, you would’ve died of boredom talking to him.’

He relaxed, a dopey smile playing on his lips as if he thought of something and then, out of nowhere, splashed water at her. She yelped. ‘Hey!’

‘You said I was a jester, right?’, he joked, splashing more water and soaking her blue dress.

Two could play that game!

She stood up and jumped into the water, taking advantage of the surprise and throwing a handful of water his way. His shirt and pants was drenched now too. He laughed, brushed his hair back, and attacked again. They must look like fools: two adolescents playing around in a pond and splashing each other wet. Julietta wobbled closer and an idea popped in her head. Snatching onto his shoulder, she pulled him underwater with all her weight. Luke yelled from the sudden ambush. He was only under for three second when he pushed back, stunning her by lifting her in his arms and taking away all the strength she had. But before she could react, before she could take in how strong he was and how close he was and how his clothes stuck to his skin and, consequently, stuck to hers, he threw her back with a wild laugh. The rush is her stomach made her whoop and scream. 

Julietta came up again, wiping the dripping curls from her face. ‘Time out!’ she exclaimed. 

Luke bit his lip, keeping back a snort, and swaggered towards her. ‘The princess can’t take a hit?’

She puffed, never one to back down. ‘You’re _lucky_ I can handle some mud.’

He shook his head, charmed by her quip, and lifted himself out of the pond. She couldn’t help but stare as his shirt has gone transparent. It was horribly indecent of her, but what else was she supposed to focus on when his body sculpted like Apollo? When he caught her stare, she looked away, hands clasped together. She then realised that she was soaked too. Her dress, made from thin silk and scraps of tulle, must look… rather different too. Emboldened, she met his gaze. Luke didn’t blink when she did, jaw clenched and swallowing slowly. 

‘Could you, uh-’ She was flustered, no rational thought coming to mind. ‘Help me? Out of the pond?’

By her question, he spurred into action and lifted her out with ease, though her heavy skirt weighed down onto the grass. She held onto his shoulder for a beat too long before she let go. Julietta mustered a smile. Alright, perhaps she shouldn’t make this a regular activity. 

Walking out of the shade and into the hot sun, they sit down in hopes of drying quickly. Julietta wondered if he wasn’t needed at the stables, but she supposed it was fine while he was with her, right? Luke pulled a piece of cloth over his eyes as he laid down on his back, the grass tickling at his sides. She kept upright, enough distance between them that she wouldn’t be urged to touch him again. It gave her an odd thrill when she did. 

‘What else happened?’, he asked after an amicable beat of silence. 

She plucked a wildflower and stuck it behind her ear. ‘At Versaille?’ He nodded. ‘I read, mostly. To avoid the prince and his family. They have the most beautiful collection of art I have ever seen though. Oh!’ Her gasp made him peek. ‘I sang!’

This made him sit up, intrigued spelled in his gaze. Eager, he reached forward. ‘You sing?’

Endeared by his excitement, she leaned in as well. ‘I do. Only occasionally. This was kind of…’ She sought the right word to describe her father’s behaviour. ‘Spontaneous.’

Sky blue crossed amber whiskey and there was something about the way he looked at her that made her freeze in her tracks. As if she’d gifted him the most luxurious present for Christmas and he was lulled into deep gratitude. Julietta didn’t look away, a soft smile playing on her lips as she waited - and stared - for him to reply. She didn’t mind. It felt like a tight embrace, they way he looked. His affections for her stretched further than simple conversation. (She was curious how far it went, but she mustn’t get too excited.) 

‘Can you sing now?’, he whispered. 

That, she didn’t expect. ‘Now?’

‘Yeah.’

She looked around them, planes of high grass and nothing else. No stage or ballroom or instruments. He wanted her to sing in a drying blue gown and matted hair? It looked as ridiculous as it sounded and it only electrified her more. Julietta sat a little straighter and nodded. He pulled himself completely upright and gave her his full attention, head on his knee. 

‘Don’t expect the stars,’ she teased. 

He tilted his head, cryptic. ‘I feel like I might be surprised.’

Julietta placed her hands in her lap, pondering about what she could sing. Cassandra’s Ballad seemed a bit out of tune for this occasion, the sun and his smile far too lovely for such a depressing message. A silly, little lullaby popped in her head. She giggled, shook her head, and sang it anyway. The lyrics were simple and sweet, one her mother used to sing before she went to bed. Her voice, melodic and bright like chipper birds, drifted into the wind as he listened attentively. It was about dancing amongst the stars and handing a blanket to the lonely moon. Julietta wasn’t aware she remembered the lyrics - but here she was, singing to Luke. As opposed to the ballroom in Versaille where she was petrified before starting, here she was calm and relaxed. Perhaps it was the heat warming her skin or his awed expression touching her soul or the flower tickling her ear. It didn’t matter. She was happy. 

Quicker than she expected, the song ended. Both let out a breath. Him, incredulous. Her, from the way he looked at her. The rippling urge to jump into the unknown of his eyes that resembled the dangerous tides of the ocean. Her hands gripped the grass. 

‘That,’ he breathed, shaking his head. ‘You’re an incredible singer, Julie.’

She looked away, shy from his compliment. ‘Thank you, Luke.’

‘I’d love to play with you sometime-’ He caught the double entendre before she could linger on it. ‘With my guitar!’

She gasped, ignoring what he said before. ‘You’re a musician?!’

It was equally cruel as pleasurable the universe would send a boy like this on her path. Of all the interests he could have, he was a musician. A guitarist no less! The most romantical instrument of Las Almas! It must explain the scars on his fingers, plucked raw from the strings. (How she felt a thrill when he lifted her out of the pond, the roughness of his hands digging into her waist.) 

Luke frowned. ‘Yes. Why so surprised?’

‘When you said you were an artist I thought you meant painting! Sculpting! Writing!’

Charmed by her outburst, he placed his hands behind him and turned away from the sun. ‘Well, I do write. But they’re not stories. I write lyrics, songs about adventure and rising through the ranks and hope for a better life.’

All he said sounded far better than any song she ever had to learn. Those were about faith and tradition and purity. His tales seemed wild and authentic and real; she wondered if she’d feel the same energy when singing his songs as when she sang Cassandra’s. Seeing how impassioned he was, she decided to take a risk. 

‘That’s amazing, Luke,’ she gushed. ‘I’d love to collaborate on a song!’

He quirked a brow, not expecting that response. A smirk crawled on his lips. ‘I’ll warn you, it’s no royal lullaby.’

Julietta scoffed, peering at him smugly. ‘You think I can’t handle it?’

‘I don’t think the _other_ people in the palace can.’ HIs suggestive tone confirmed what she thought the songs might include. It excited her in peculiar ways, like she was doing something wrong but felt good about it. (Then again, wasn’t this entire rapport with Luke a little inappropriate?) 

‘Right…’ She looked around. ‘We can always play here. We’re too far for anyone to hear or see us.’

His smirk, illegal for any church, widened. ‘Sounds rather inappropriate.’

‘You-!’ She threw a fistful of grass, ignoring her stuttering heart. ‘You are _such_ a flirt!’

The duo laughed the afternoon away, sun drifting lower and lower on the horizon. A beautiful deep golden and pink painted the sky by the time she stood up, dusted her skirt, and bid him goodbye. When she looked over her shoulder a final time, he was still frozen on the spot. Hands in his pocket, lost in thought. Julietta blushed and turned away from him, chin tucked in her chest. Luke was as adorable as he was handsome. 

‘Julie?’

Her dress fluttered in the wind as she turned around. ‘Yes?’ Her voice lilted hopeful, though she wasn’t sure what she was exactly hoping for.

He mustered a smile. ‘See you tomorrow?’

The princess grinned, nodded, and ran away before he could see how those three simple words made her ridiculously happy. 

Julietta did see Luke tomorrow, but also the days after that. She saw him every single day. 

It started innocent enough, running to the stables after lunch and talking about their day so far. She helped him brush the horses and didn’t look at him whenever he looked at her. They talked about music more, how he got his guitar and now he instantly fell in love with the art of it. How he wrote songs whenever he felt extremely sad or happy or confused. She pleaded for him to sing a piece, yet he refused. They were too personal, he claimed. Julietta respected that. When she asked about those “adventurous” songs, he grinned and told her he’d bring his guitar tomorrow.

And so she saw him again. He brought his guitar, an old, well-loved instrument, and played her the song. It was deeply infused with that traditional Las Almas sound, complex fingerpicking that reminded one of sweet white wine and velvet dresses, yet filled with unconventional lyrics. He was correct: it was _not_ a royal lullaby. The intense emotions he displayed in the lyrics, about love and passion and wanderlust, left her flustered and yearning more. She hung onto every word. He taught her the lyrics after. There, in the shade of the barn, they sang together as he softly strummed the guitar. She felt something click into place when they ended, like she was always meant to sit on a bale of hay with her pink skirt fanned around her as Luke crooned the lyrics back to her. They didn’t talk for a while after, both processing the magic they’ve created. 

(Later that day, she snuck outside and surprised him with one of her songbooks. For inspiration, she said. Luke, moved by the gesture, spontaneously grabbed her into a hug and lifted her feet off the ground. She held onto his neck, grinning like a fool from the sparkle in his eye. He smelled like horses and sweat and hay, but it might be better than any perfume on her vanity. Her fingers were nudged against her nose that night, holding onto the aroma for as long as she could.) 

(He lifted and spun her around again a few days later. They were goofing off by the pond as she dramatically sang an old wife’s song and did silly little dance moves. He took her by surprise and twirled her around, holding onto her as she belted into the sky. After he set her down, hands trailing from her legs to her waist with a featherlight touch, she swore she saw his eyes flickering to her lips. Instead, Luke brushed an eyelash from her cheek and blew it away with a fond grin. Julietta wondered until the early hours of the night what he wished for.) 

He somehow found his way inside the castle, finding her in the weirdest of places. Like when she bribed the cooks to give her an extra mango and he was there for food crates. Or in the hallways, pulling her into corners and shadowy nooks and alcoves, for no other reason than to tell her a story or a lyric or joke he thought of. 

Whenever he did, lips so close and breath fanning onto her cheeks, she fantasised what would happen if she dared to come closer. The thoughts always stupefied her, making her blush a burning red and confusing Flynn if she was around. To rid herself of those consuming ideas, she wrote them down in her diary. The pages were quickly inked full about the stable boy. Sometimes, when it was too soon to go to the stables or she hasn’t seen him in a hallway, she grabbed her diary and read her thoughts from the night before. 

( _Oh_ , she thought. The sketch of his face next to his name in cursive struck her deep. Julietta was _infatuated_.) 

It was yet another day that she strolled around the corridors, waiting to go outside again and avoiding her father all the same. He was in _quite_ the mood that morning. Her gaze was transfixed on two blue birds dancing around each other when she was abruptly pulled to the side, pressed into an alcove. There, underneath the sculpture of a fallen angel, was Luke grinning down at her. His hands gripped her corseted waist. She let out a relieved breath. 

‘You scared me,’ she puffed.

Luke pulled her close. ‘You like it.’

She pushed him back, laughing. ‘No, I don’t. What’re you doing here?’ 

From his back pocket, he revealed a pen encrusted with gold. She gasped and threw her arms around his shoulder, a tight embrace for the thoughtful gift. He chuckled and held her close, his nose nudging her bare shoulder. 

‘Where did you find it?’, she mumbled, gingerly taking it from his fingers. 

‘It’s not real gold,’ he winked. ‘I found it outside. Must’ve gotten lost by a minister.’

She rolled her eyes and slipped it underneath her tulle sleeve. ‘I love it. And you know I don’t care about gold.’

Luke stilled. ‘You don’t?’

‘Of course not,’ she giggled. Has he ever heard her jabbering about gold and jewels? She wore one, dainty golden necklace - which used to be her mother’s - and that was it. ‘Who do you think I am?’

‘The princess of Las Almas,’ he deadpanned. 

‘I’m your _friend_ ,’ she corrected. He shouldn’t believe she cared about something as silly as a type of metal. ‘Your confidante.’

‘Yes,’ he smiled, a little off. ‘You are.’ Julietta frowned. Did something bother him? Was it something she said? Before she could panic about the idea he didn’t want to be friends anymore, he said, a little quieter: ‘Can I say you look rather… beautiful today? Friends can say that, right?’

Her breath hitched, all too aware his warm hands were still enclosed around her waist. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. Luke found her beautiful? Oh God, her diary would be overflowing again. Her teeth grazed her lips. ‘You can.’

Luke swallowed thickly and frowned, as if mustering the courage to say something important. She raised her brows, anticipating with baited breath. Julietta didn’t know what she was hoping for, and she’d never find out, as right at that moment a voice clamoured around the halls. Carlos. 

He sighed and dropped his hands. ‘Another time.’

‘For what?’, she urged, snatching his hands. She missed the touch already. 

Luke grinned, lighter this time. ‘That’s for you to find out, isn’t it princess?’ And then he disappeared from the alcove into the hallway, inconspicuous and fast. Julietta blinked, impressed. He could be a phantom if he wanted to.

‘Julietta?’

She whirled around at the sound of Carlos’ inquisitive voice. He held a toy soldier in his hand. Her fingers snapped around her wrist, hopefully hiding her gift. How mortifying would that be? _Yes, Carlos, I indeed received a lovely gift from the stable boy I am massively infatuated with._

‘Carlos,’ she breathed. Was she red? She felt flushed. ‘I thought you were playing with Emmanuel?’ Emmanuel was Carlos’ lord-in-waiting and the young prince _lived_ to tease the man mercilessly. Julietta couldn’t count how many times Carlos had run off or “forgot” they were playing hide and seek. 

He made a face. ‘He was trying to explain the army to me instead of _actually_ playing the army.’ He may not admit it, but he looked truly upset by it. His crestfallen expression gave Julietta an idea for a better activity.

Ruffling his hair, which caused him to squeak in defiance, she exclaimed: ‘Want to play tag in the maze?’

‘Don’t you have princess-stuff to do?’, he grumbled. 

‘Yes. Playing tag with my brother,’ she deadpanned. A toothy grin crawled on his face. ‘Now, will you stop whining and come outside?’

‘Yes.’ And then, - she should’ve seen it coming - slapped her hard in the stomach and yelled: ‘You’re it!’

‘Carlos!’

She ran after him, but he was as quick as fox, darting into the rose maze and effectively making her lose sight of which way he went. Far, she heard his boyish laughter. She went around the corner. Not here either. Left or right? 

‘Carlo- ah!’

Yet again, warm hands captured her waist and pulled her into a dead end. Yet again, face to face with a grinning Luke. Amongst the thorns, he looked more dangerous. More… well… Her stomach was warm and buzzing from standing in this private nook of the maze. Her mind was racing with fantasies and she couldn’t shut them up. 

‘How do you keep doing that?!’, she hissed, unable to keep the mirth out of her voice. 

Luke pulled her closer, smiling. This time, she didn’t push back. ‘Do what?’

‘Disappear and then return without anyone seeing you?’

He shrugged. ‘I guess I’m quick. Can I finish my thought from before?’ The abrupt question made her grin falter. Oh. With his irises blown wide, more black than blue, and with him so close, she was rendered speechless. If her heart beated any faster she’d die. Julietta was overwhelmed. 

She nodded. Her body was burning from his touch anyway - may as well let herself melt. 

‘I wanted to say that… you look beautiful every day. I don’t think you’ve ever looked bad, I think-’ He puffed, a nervous laugh hitting her cheek. She smiled. ‘You kind of take my breath away, Julie.’ 

Oh, how sweet was it to die from the poetic musings of this boy. She couldn’t breathe, hands clenched around his biceps, unable to say anything that would measure to what she felt. 

‘What?’, she sputtered. How intelligent of her. 

Luke chuckled, but his red cheeks betrayed his nonchalance. ‘And I think I’ve just stolen yours.’ And then, before she could react, swiftly pressed his lips on her cheek and sprinted away.

Julietta gasped, hand covering where he touched her skin. How dare he make her feel so outrageously happy and flustered and excited? She wanted to scream. If only he’d been bold enough to kiss her on the mouth… then again, she might not have finished her game of tag with Carlos if he did. The thought made her giggle childishly. Kissing Luke… 

‘Julietta?!’

His screeching voice shocked her out of her reverie. ‘You better watch out!’

The pink haze she had been drifting on, filled with more lingering gazes and more inconspicuous touches and visits that became longer and longer that Flynn became suspicious, all came crashing down one evening weeks later. King Raymond cleared his throat, put his cutlery down, and announced a heartbreaking declaration. 

‘Somehow, Julietta, you didn’t completely ruin our chances of upkeeping the bright Las Almas as an honourable regency.’

She looked up, confused. Her daydream about Luke was abruptly cut short. ‘What do you mean, father?’

‘Queen Madeleine and prince Nicholas were kind enough to overlook your… momentary lapse of madness and want to give you another chance.’ He bared his teeth, a smile one could perceive as joy, but she only saw a hungry wolf. 

‘But-’, she stuttered. ‘But I thought-’

‘You thought _what_?’, he bit. She closed her mouth and looked down at her half-eaten plate. She wasn’t hungry anymore. 

How in the world did the queen and Nicholas give her a second chance? Madeleine had been praying like the devil himself had descended onto the stage. Nicholas was _mortified_. In her imagination, she flooded the ballroom with sea and blood and wailed about murdering all men that touched her the wrong way - yet somehow her father patched things up. Without her asking, no less! This allegiance must be more important than she thought.

She bit her cheek. ‘Nothing father.’ 

‘We have prepared a masked ball in two weeks for all the royals from around the Lucian Sea, which includes queen Madeleine and Nicholas. You’ll apologise _deeply_ and proclaim your regrets, understood?’

Her fingers clenched around her knife, flares of anguished rage trembling inside of her. ‘Understood,’ she gritted. Carlos caught her gaze from across the table, confused, yet sympathetic. Even he could see how upset she was. Behind Carlos, she found the worried face of Alexander. A small pull in his brows. His lips didn’t move though. 

In all the weeks she gallivanted with Luke, she hadn’t told him the true reason why she had been in the Court of Versaille. Julietta was afraid he’d pull away, stop whatever was happening between them _just_ as it was becoming something. He kissed her cheek again just last night! When she showed him the basic steps to the polka and he off-handedly told her how adorable she was. When she nudged his shoulder and he grasped her hand before she could pull it back. When she muttered _what?_ and he kissed her cheek and smiled and let the tension between them thicken until she couldn’t breathe and told him, stumbling, she should head back. 

And so she didn’t tell him. To her, there was nothing to tell. But that might change now. 

‘Argh!’, she shrieked when she reached her bedroom. Flynn was calmly embroidering flowers onto one of her new dresses by the chaise longue.

She raised a brow. ‘Well, you’re very calm.’

‘Flynn! Full panic mode, please!’

‘Alright.’ She placed her dress down and sat next to Julietta on her bed. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘My father is throwing a ball! To impress Nicholas - again!’ A pillow flung across the room. 

Flynn’s jaw fell slack and yelled: ‘What?!’ 

Finally getting the right reaction, Julietta dumped her head on her shoulder. ‘I don’t know what to do! I thought my performance would be enough to scare them off!’

‘Did you hitch your dress to your knees?’, she joked. 

Julietta whined. ‘Flynn…’

‘What? I’m trying to lighten this mood - Julietta, look at me.’ Her friend grasped her chin and made her peer into her dark eyes. Spikes of guilt pricked her conscience as she stared at Flynn. She hadn’t properly spoken to her bosom friend in a while because of Luke. She never meant to abandon her like that. 

‘Everything will be fine,’ Flynn pressed. 

Julietta grabbed her hand. ‘I’m sorry for not being a good friend as of late,’ she muttered. 

‘Huh?’

‘We haven’t spent time together in ages,’ the princess continued, ashamed. ‘I’m sorry.’

To her surprise, Flynn giggled. Julietta frowned. If she were Flynn, she’d be righteously mad. Why wasn’t she calling her names? She deserved to! 

‘Julietta. How dimwitted do you think I am? My girl is _in love_.’ As Flynn uttered those words, Julietta shot upright and to the other side of the room. Love? Surely not! She was just… having fun with Luke! Infatuated, yes, but in love? Her mind faltered. She wasn’t… love was supposed to feel bigger, right? Everything she has felt wasn’t the way authors had described it in the stories. Love was more; this rapport between Lukas and her was not. 

‘What?’, she squeaked. ‘How in the world did you come up with that?’

Her friend flatly stared at her. ‘So you go into the gardens every day, all the way to the stables, _not_ ride Canción, and sit there? By yourself? For hours?’

When a fumbling Julietta couldn’t rebut, as there was nothing to argue, Flynn bounced upright, excited. ‘I knew it! Our very own princess fancies the stable boy! What’s his name?’

Sheepish, she brushed her hair over her shoulder. Perhaps it was time to come clean. Julietta didn’t think she ever kept a secret to herself this long. ‘Lukas,’ she whispered, unable to keep the smile down when she said his name. And then everything came out all at once. 

‘Oh, Flynn, he calls me _Julie_. Isn’t that sweet? And he is Luke to me. He makes me laugh and I just get so excited whenever I see him or I know I’m about to see him and-’ She shuffled closer to the grinning Flynn. ‘I feel like I’m burning from the inside out every time he touches me, or stares at me.’

She gasped. ‘He _touches_ you?!’ 

‘Not like that!’ Julietta flicked her shoulder. ‘He… embraces me. We- he kissed me on the cheek.’ Her head ducked, goofy smile stuck on her cheeks. ‘Twice.’

‘Julietta!’, Flynn squealed, jiggling her arm with excitement for the smitten girl, when she froze and dread twisted her face. ‘Oh, no. Nicholas.’

The princess pursed her lips as if she bit into a lime. ‘Yes. “Oh, no,” suffices.’

Flynn frowned, churning to come up with any useful solution. Julietta stared out of the window. It was the first day since many that she hasn’t seen him. It felt weird, like she had fallen back on her feet after soaring so high. Colours seemed dull. Her icy blue gown with its ornate straps and pearl hems looked grey. Even the sunset, a beautiful burned orange, was less than it usually was. Her neck craned to see the stables, but she only saw the horses grazing in the distance. She wished to touch his white shirt and have him flick her chin and maybe she would kiss _his_ cheek this time. Julietta missed Luke. 

‘Go to him.’

Startled, she looked back at Flynn. Her expression was sympathetic. ‘What?’

She nodded at the window, mischievous. ‘Go to him.’

‘It’s late.’ Julietta tried to find a reason to not sprint out. Tried to convince Flynn and herself it was nothing more but infatuation. She feigned nonchalance. ‘He might not even be there.’

‘Don’t you want to find out?’, she whispered. Their smiles grew, Flynn nudging her upright. ‘If anyone asks, I’ll say you already went to bed.’

The feverishly excited Julietta grabbed her best friend by the neck and promptly kissed her cheek. ‘Evelyn Ogonye, I will make _sure_ you get Turkish Delights until the day you die!’ 

She laughed. ‘Just go!’

She didn’t have to tell her again, Julietta racing out of the room in a flurry, her skirt flapping behind her as her arms pushed her forward. She went for the secret exit behind the alcove and sprinted outside, using the rose maze to hide her tracks. Twisting and turning, her sleeves nearly catching in the thorns, she got out with barely a scratch. The hem of her dress was muddied. She took a breath. God, corsets were lovely, but they were vexing to run in. The orange in the sky had shifted into a purple afterglow, casting a romantical light upon her skin. Dewy grass weighed her dress down and made her take her last steps slower. 

‘Luke?’

The shed was dark, devoid of life. Disappointment sunk to her feet as she merely saw the serene horses resting. Not even Canción paid her any attention. Julietta kicked a bale of hay with a huff and plopped down, arms crossed. How foolish was she to think Luke would wait for her after his working hours. Obviously he went to his quarters to eat and talk with his friends! All that heaving in her corset for nothing. 

‘Julie?’

Illuminated by the purple sky, a confused Luke regarded her. Julietta brightened with delight, standing up. It didn’t matter why he was out there so late, he was _here_! She crashed into his arms before he could ask another question, solace taking away the grief of a possible betrothal. As long as she was in his arms, nothing could hurt her. 

He chuckled into her hair. ‘What’re you doing here?’

She so desperately wanted to tell him, wanted to rid herself of the pain and the frustration and spill her inevitable future. But she couldn’t do it. Julietta needed him to stay with her, unable to fathom what would happen if he ever pulled away. She reckoned it would feel something like death. 

Sensing her grief, his hand softly encased her cheek as his worried look pierced into hers. ‘Wow. What’s wrong?’

Furiously shaking her head, she mustered a tearful smile. It didn’t make him relax though. ‘I’m fine,’ she muttered. ‘Really. I am. I just…’ Her eyes roved across his handsome features, afraid that if she looked away he’d disappear from her forever. ‘I needed to see you.’

Luke frowned, not quite believing her still. ‘Okay? Wha-’

‘Why are _you_ here?’, she cut off. 

Despite the faint light of dusk creeping in, she saw his cheeks flush and his gaze become timid. ‘I was hoping you’d come.’

Julietta smiled, any trace of gutted emptiness vanishing. Perhaps Luke was infatuated with her too. His intimate wording felt like a confession, a secret he was almost afraid to admit to. And with his hand still pressed against her cheek, she might actually believe it.

‘Yeah?’, she whispered. 

His eyes fell down past her nose, her breath hitching. Luke nodded, slow. ‘Yeah.’

Every cell, every thought, every yearning part of soul wanted to kiss him. She wanted to pull him close and never let go and feel the heat of his skin against hers and afterwards, the world could end. Whatever she felt - whatever the word was that she was yet to find - she never wanted it to stop. 

But if her father got his way, she couldn’t do it. If she kissed him, then there was no going back. Neither deserved that. Julietta took a shaky step back, his hand falling limp on his side as she tried to calm her shuddering breaths. His stare burned in her temple. 

‘Uh,’ she cleared her throat, ‘there’s a masked ball coming to the palace quite soon. The snobs of the Court of Versaille will attend as well.’

His lips quivered for a split second. ‘That prince Nicholas?’

He remembered his name? ‘Yes. It will be awfully boring.’ She pressed a smile on and hoped he didn’t question it. ‘Perhaps you could attend? Make fun of the guests with me?’

Luke dug the tip of his shoe in the straw littering the floor. ‘Uh, I don’t think stable boys are allowed in ball rooms, Julie.’

Perking up, she got a bright idea. ‘What if you’re my-!’ But then she halted. Date? Rendez-vous? Plus one? Honorary guest? All of these sounded rather romantic, something her father would vehemently disagree with. She sulked, turning her back again. ‘Never mind. Silly idea.’

‘I wish I could,’ he tried and then, with careful humour: ‘I’d try out those polka steps you showed me.’

Julietta giggled despite herself. ‘You? Dancing the polka? You’d fall over your own two feet.’

He gasped, eyes gleaming with mirth. ‘Rude! How unprincess-like!’

‘That’s not even a word!’

‘It is now!’

They burst into a fit of laughter, the tension from before just a lingering memory. While the lights were fading and he was becoming harder to discern by the second, she felt happy. How could she ever think of even kissing him if she would lose _this_? This pure, unadulterated friendship unmarred by grief or pain or insecurity? She could laugh with Luke forever and have it not be a problem. And if that meant he remained a friend, then she’d accept that with open arms. 

Kissing Luke would be her doom. 

But this was alright. For now, for eternity, this was enough. She should worry about the dress her seamstresses would make, not lament about Luke. 

(Luke, with the dazzling smile and warm skin and shaggy brown hair that brushed against his lashes which adorned his enviable blue eyes. With the subtle dimples whenever he laughed. With a certain gaze solely meant for her. Oh, _God_.)

Soon after, he urged her to go back to the palace, that he’d leave in a few minutes as to not raise suspicion. She hated how scandalising it sounded. Repeating her sentiment that it would be pleasant if he attended the ball too, she left before he could dismiss it. With the hope dangling in the air, she could latch onto the _perhaps_.

The next day Julietta was in a far better mood. For one, the cooks made her oatmeal with her favourite berries. Two, she realised that if the ball was meant for all royalty of the Lucian Sea, it meant that Caroline would be there too! She hasn’t seen her friend in months! The ball wouldn’t be so bad if she had the enigmatic chatterbox next to her. She bet Carrie would wear the most ostentatious pink or red gown, with all the glamour she commanded. The thought made her smile and she rapidly wrote her dear friend a letter, inking her excitement on the paper, as well as her disdain for the prince. Gossip: Carrie’s ambrosia. 

Her father also had no excuse to ban Flynn from the ball. She was Julietta’s official lady-in-waiting and if the princess requested her presence at her _own_ ball, than he couldn’t refuse. Flynn was ecstatic when she heard, cheering about all the ideas she had for her gown and became even happier when Julietta said she’d fund the design. If Flynn wanted to wear feathers and pearls and silk and silver, then she was acquiring that. Perhaps out of spite against her father, but mostly out of love for her friend. 

Sketches upon sketches drowned the floor of Julietta’s bedroom of all dresses Flynn conjured from her imagination, each one more decadent than the former. It felt like normal again, giggling and babbling on her bed as they debated which one was best. They spent quite a lot of time in the costuming hall too, rows of seamstresses tirelessly working on the suits of her father, Carlos, the ministers and the girls’s dresses. 

Meanwhile, Luke had distanced himself a little from her. He was still jovial around her, but something was off. It made her wonder if she made a mistake that night in the barn, that she shouldn’t have pulled away. But any time she lingered on it, he told another joke or asked her advice on a certain lyric he’d been working on, and the worry went away. As the pond and the horses had lost their novelty, they went on longer strolls now. Somehow, he hadn’t properly seen the orange orchards and they now used his breaks to traverse the trees. They plucked those that were ripe - her fingers perpetually sticky, lips sweet from the juice. He didn’t mention the ball and neither did she. It was better that way. 

(But as they sat in the shade of the orange trees, peeling fruit and sticking the skin on their teeth, giggling, she wondered if her heart spoke more than her words did. When they laid in the soft grass and she felt the heat of his hand next to hers and peeked at him and saw that his eyes were shut, she wondered if he had the same musings.)

Caroline’s letter reached her eight days later, filled with exclamation points and intricate details about her dress and how it has been difficult choosing the boy she’d prefer to rendez-vous with. How she didn’t mind stealing Nicholas away from her, with a wink. _My father is still adamant I marry into royalty and keep our name worthy, but if I can’t be queen, I shall not even entertain the idea to amuse him. My mother baptised me as Caroline, which means “free woman” and “strong” if you must know. How dare he suggest I can’t live up to MY OWN name but should for something as silly as Wilson. I shall forever remain a free woman with my own money and land. If prince Nicholas is dashing, however, I may put on a show. Might get a laugh from it myself._

On the eve before the ball, when the help had been running around all day frantically trying to get everything in order before the first guests arrived in the early afternoon, she saw Luke again. 

‘The seamstresses did a wonderful job with my dress,’ she gushed, playing with the satin ribbon that previously held her hair back. Luke once off-handedly told her he liked her hair down and since then tried it sometimes to get his reaction. It was never as visceral as she hoped for, but a twitch of the lip told her enough. ‘It’s a little more mature than usual, but I couldn’t let princess Caroline’s dress overpower mine! She told me her dress is the colour of _cherries_. I don’t know where they got it from, but…’ She trailed off, catching his glossed over gaze. ‘I’m sorry, this must be boring you.’

He blinked. ‘No! I’m sorry. I had a long day.’

Ashamed, she ducked her head. ‘Then you should’ve said so. I can leave and then you can rest.’

He grabbed her wrist before she could move, a gentle smile replacing his distracted one. ‘Don’t. Please. Tell me more.’

(Julietta wondered if he felt her pulse. If he noticed it quickened when he smiled.) 

The next day, Julietta was equally excited as nauseous. For two weeks she had been able to ignore the fact that the masked ball was organised for _her_ to woo prince Nicholas _again_ , but now it was knocking on her brass encrusted door and she was not ready. Not even her gorgeous gown could cheer her up. 

Maria and Flynn came in after lunch, none eaten much because of the nerves. All have felt the building tension between king Raymond and the help and today was no better. He barked at a poor maid that his eggs weren’t perfectly cooked and the girl nearly cried. It made getting into the corsets easier though. It was as depressing as it was amusing. Flynn chuckled when Julietta said it. _Wasn’t life always?_ she then replied. Julietta lingered on her wise words for a long time. 

Flynn’s dress was spectacular. Incredibly French, with structured pleats and subtle bouffant skirt, lace tickling her arms and a pastel pink colour which did wonders for her skin tone. Iridescent thread framed the hem, like rainbows glistening in a fountain. It was still far more demure than anything the royalty would wear, but that didn’t stop Flynn from being overjoyed. Even Maria cracked a smile. Flynn kissed Julietta’s cheeks, thanking her once more for funding her dream project. 

‘Using my father’s wealth for your passion is _always_ my priority,’ Julietta joked, right as she was being pulled to her vanity by Maria.

Julietta’s dress was… different. Not the usual pastel or signature purple. A dark blue, like the night sky, with pearls and gems glittering across the ethereal fabric like stars. It was layers upon layers of tulle, crinoline creating a large skirt and a scandalous plunge in the back. It was quite unconventional and might cause some displeasing looks, but Julietta was excited. The gown was made from her longing daydreams. She has always felt an affinity to the stars, how free and infinite they were, and now she was a part of them. 

Flynn coiffed her hair with silver pins while Maria attached small crystals onto her clavicles and temples, similar to the pearls in Versaille, but more refined. Poised. Julietta has never looked more graceful. 

Their slender silhouettes stared at each other in the mirror, throwing compliments back and forth, when there was a knock on the door. The girls froze. To an outsider, it must be quite inappropriate seeing the princess so chummy with her lady-in-waiting. Maria scurried to the day and creaked it open, only by a sliver.

‘Please,’ a soprano voice exclaimed, offended. ‘I’m her confidante. I think I’m allowed to see Julietta whenever I want to.’

Julietta gasped, running towards the door and throwing it open. ‘Carrie!’ 

The girl smirked, a dangerous red painting her lips. ‘Missed me?’

Julietta, overjoyed she was finally reunited with the Saxon princess after months apart, quickly filled her in with all the details on Luke after she told the disgruntled Maria to leave them. Carrie and Flynn didn’t know each other well, but they both had a mutual interest in making Luke and her work. Caroline more than Flynn (her lady-in-waiting sometimes reminded her that, while she was allowed to have fun, her duty was still with the kingdom), the former spurring her on to “just grab him”. When Julietta asked the princess who she has brought as a date, a wicked grin pulled on her cheeks as she said she had been quite intrigued by prince Nicholas. Oh, God. He wouldn’t be able to handle her. Carrie’s glare could make a colonel drop to his knees. 

‘Will I get to see this elusive Luke?’, Carrie asked. ‘Or must I remain curious?’

Julietta grinned wistfully, sauntering to her balcony window and taking a peek outside. He wasn’t in sight. He must be hard at work. 

The Saxon gasped. ‘You can _spy_ on him?! Julietta! I didn’t know you had it in you.’

She flushed red, stammering. ‘No! I cannot “spy” on him! He, well,’ She sent Flynn a guilty look, a secret she hasn’t told her. ‘He sometimes comes to my window.’

The two girls rushed to her window to understand what she meant. Six meters down were the luscious gardens, her balcony wrapped around the corner so he wouldn’t instantly be caught. Suddenly, Julietta realised how intimate that was. Luke came to her window, at night, when both were far more vulnerable than during the day, and he talked to her while she grinned down at him, devoid of the glitter and glamour that usually adorned her. And it happened so naturally. She hadn’t even lingered on it the months before. 

‘Julietta,’ Flynn scolded, ‘why did you not tell me? This is exciting!’

Carrie raised her brows. ‘And dangerous. He’s risking a lot. Courting the princess unbeknownst to the king? He earns my respect.’

‘He’s not courting me!’

Carrie remained unfazed. ‘Does he know that if he’s standing at your window?’

‘He does not-’ She stalled, unsure what she even wanted to say. Did Luke know? Did he think he was courting her? Surely, he didn’t. He knew that what they had was strictly a relationship for the meadow. And the alcoves of the palace. And the pond. And the orange trees. Oh, God. He has been everywhere. She felt flustered at the thought that he hasn’t seen her room yet. 

‘I have a feeling he wants to.’ She decided to be earnest, for once letting herself be honest about all the moments between them. A simple friend didn’t tell her she was beautiful and kissed her cheek and left her pulled at the seams. A friend’s gaze wouldn’t flicker to her lips in the purple glow of the night and subtly lean in. ‘But he knows that we can’t.’

‘At least he’s bright,’ Flynn commented sympathetically. 

Caroline wasn’t pleased however. ‘If I reject marrying a royal brat, why can’t you? If I were you, I’d run away with him without a second thought.’

A thrill rushed through her at Carrie’s words. The most radical ideas that filled her diary never once edged towards “running away”. That was meant for the adventurous heroines of her novels, something Flynn frequently reminded her of that she was not a fictional being. For a second, she let herself daydream what that would be like: Luke and her on the run, cloaked by velvet capes, just a pouch of money attached to her hip. She shook her head. She shouldn’t get carried away. Her life was here, at the castle, with Flynn and Carlos and her father and masked balls and political meetings. 

Julie smiled, rueful. ‘Only a dream.’

As this was the ball of the Molina dynasty, they were the first to attend while awaiting the other guests. Aside from the Saxon Isles, no other kingdom has arrived. The mask, an intricate golden jewel that stuck to her face like second skin, eased her nerves. It gave her a sense of anonymity, despite sticking out like a sore thumb. Between the fair skinned Caroline and the cornrows of Flynn, she was quite distinguishable.

Ministers and their wives flooded the room, soon followed by the dukes and counts of Las Almas with their duchesses and countesses. All pruny and delighted to not be stuck in their own castles. The string quartet was merely warming up, simple tunes drifting through the air. Reginald, the gifted cellist, caught her gaze once and winked at her. She didn’t know what that meant exactly, but what she did know was that he perceived her as a friend because of Luke. The quiet camaraderie made her unabashedly happy. 

When most had arrived - the Northern Regencies, the Land of Nile, the Grecian Republic - the Court of Versaille finally came forth and consequently knotted up Julietta’s stomach completely. She was nauseous. 

Prince Nicholas looked the same as before - tall, blond, fair skinned, the wrong shade of blue. A white suit this time, the tips of his hair brushing his shoulders. Caroline leaned into her. 

‘Prince Nicholas, I assume?’

But then the guard announced their names and did the work for her. She nodded, feeling the prince’s gaze hot on her. She didn’t look his way. 

‘Boredom personified,’ she whispered back instead. 

Carrie grinned. ‘Wonderful.’

‘I must warn you, he _refuses_ to speak anything but French.’ The reminder made Julietta’s blood boil. The absolute nerve of that boy, not even _trying_ to be a citizen of the world when he was bound for the crown! How isolated she’d feel if she heard a speech from her monarch and didn’t understand a word. The blatant difference between Luke and Nicholas became apparent once again; Julietta didn’t know if he knew something other than Spanish, but she knew him well enough that he’d at least try. _With_ enthusiasm. 

The Saxon princess scoffed as she regarded him again, more disdained this time around. ‘I’ll coerce him into English, _trust me_.’

‘Because your French pronunciation is horrific,’ Julietta pointed out.

‘Details, my friend.’

‘Ladies.’ His voice prompted unexpectedly, making Julietta flinch and Caroline frown even harder. Thank God for those masks or else the scowl would be on full display with no decorum. His mask matched his waist coat: white, with navy details. 

‘Hello, prince Nicholas.’ She smiled politely, unsure how to go about this conversation. She has mastered the art of small talk throughout all of her years attending balls and banquets, but talking to someone after you gave a maddening performance at _their_ ball? Unprecedented. She’d laugh if it wasn’t for the stare her father gave her from across the room. 

‘Hello Julietta.’ He turned to Carrie. ‘You must be the princess of the Saxon Isles.’

The girl looked him up and down, eyes squinting like a feline strategising an attack. To rope him into a closet or to threaten his decisions about language barriers, Julietta didn’t know. 

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I am princess Caroline Wilson. Pleased to meet you.’

Suddenly, the music became louder and invited the guests to fill the dance floor and take a position. A simple waltz was about to commence to ease them into the night. Once again, she wished she could dance with Luke. She lied when she said she thought he had two left feet - he probably was an amazing dancer. (Or maybe he just held her perfectly. Was a dance and an embrace any different?) 

When she met Nicholas his inquisitive gaze, she minutely shook her head. ‘Perhaps in a bit? I haven’t eaten today and am quite peckish.’

His smile thinned. ‘Of course, princess.’

She scurried off to the buffet and stuffed with as much grace as she could an entire caramel bonbon in her mouth. Her father was by her side immediately. She withheld a groan. How did he know what she was thinking at all times? (Then again: he had no clue about her secret meetings with the stable boy and that has been going on for what? Three months? Four?)

He turned his face from the crowd as to not show his displeasing glower. ‘You’re not avoiding the prince, are you?’

‘I’m hungry,’ she dismissed.

‘Lunch was not to your liking?’

She levelled his gaze with an equal ferocity. ‘I lost my appetite when you frightened the maid, father.’

He pursed his lips. She felt like she won a game in chess, barely tempering her ego. ‘Very well then. Eat, and then don’t make him wait.’

She swallowed back words of _Why shouldn’t he? Why should I cater to his needs and feelings if I feel nothing but indifference?_ and realised that Carrie has already affected her too much in just a couple of hours. 

The waltz ended and received a weak applause from those that were watching. The quartet fell into the next song, a bit more upbeat and urging the crowd to chatter with more gusto. It was then that she noticed the shirt Reginald was wearing looked an awful lot like Luke’s, but neater. She frowned. Did the string quartet share wardrobes with the stableboys? It was a small detail, but someone with a keen eye would notice how much crisper the other shirts were in comparison to Reginald’s. Did he grab the wrong one by accident? She hoped he wouldn’t get scolded for it.

Songs flooded in and out, loud and uptempo and slow and romantic. More and more people took a chance and grabbed their dance partner to the floor. Group dances made the crowd on the side clap along the melody of the harpsichord. As a child, that was Julietta’s favourite part: standing with all the girls in a circle as they turned and twisted around one another, like a blooming flower or a pumping heart. She wanted to join in, have her beautiful dress on display, but that would instigate Nicholas to join her. She hesitated. 

Until suddenly, the music shifted and the interlude of the harpsichord suggested the most romantic waltz of the evening. Nick’s eyes met hers from across the room. 

‘May I have this dance, princess?’ 

She gasped, heart turning into a frenzy as a husky voice whispered in her ear from behind. She instantly grew flustered at the mere closeness, the heat of his body against hers. Her excitement was barely restrained. He was here. Mustering all the poise, she threw an indifferent look over her shoulder, but her eyes betrayed glee and longing. Luke, dressed to kill, stared back at her with just as much intensity through his simple black mask. How did he sneak in? Where in the world did he get a tailored navy suit like this? All that didn’t matter, however, as his words registered and it knocked the breath out of her. 

Composed, she placed her hand in his and ignored how her entire being was buzzing with that overwhelming feeling of the indescribable. A mischievous smirk pulled her out of her thoughts. She shouldn’t worry right now - he was _here_. 

All he had to do was look and she was left yearning for his lips on hers. 

_Oh_ , she realised belated. She was breathless. _Oh_.

Cautiously, as if suddenly hit by nerves, he led her to the centre of the ballroom. Eyes prickled in her back as they followed the couple. Hushed confusion arose. Wasn’t the princess meant to dance with prince Nicholas? Who was this stranger? Was this allowed? Would king Raymond stop this? 

Julietta didn’t care about all that. All she cared about was the way Luke looked at her. Fond and intense and lovingly and everything she dreamed of and more. His hand slipped around her waist, the other intertwining their hands. Couples, those that weren’t stunned to confusion, followed their position and went to stand around them. A sweeping waltz fluttered across the room. Luke began leading her, swaying in circles and spinning and shifting sides so swiftly he must have been training in secret. The thought, along with his blue eyes peering from behind the mask like she was a fallen angel, made her tighten her hold on his arm. Everyone else fell away. It was just Julie and Luke and the grandiose music that felt like golden honey soothing her soul. He lifted her in the air and she let out a crystalline laugh, head thrown back with glee. The realisation hit her like thunder. 

She was in love!

This bursting feeling - the words that were unsaid, the words she couldn’t find - that made her want to scream her adoration from her balcony. Julietta was in love! She loved him, she loved him, she loved him, she loved him!

She gently fell back on her feet and he pulled her even closer.

‘Luke-’

‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered and she knew that he meant it. The way his eyes were wide open as if he were afraid to lose her from his grasp. 

‘You’re not so bad yourself,’ she whispered back, his grin breaking through just like that. She loved his smile. It nearly made her unravel her hand from his and caress his skin. 

Luke dipped her slowly, her head circling around and rising again, chests flush together. They were breathing heavily and Julie knew how it looked. She knew what the people would say. She didn’t care. Let her be in love! And now that she knew, now that he was here for her, she couldn’t hold it in any longer. 

Her cheek caressed his, trembling and warm, as she whispered in his ear: ‘I think you might have stolen my heart, Lukas.’ 

He shuddered out a breath, his lips touching her earlobe. ‘Trust me princess, you stole mine first.’

Julietta couldn’t keep the smile off her lips, drowning in heavenly bliss. He loved her back. Luke loved her! He thought of her, he dreamed of her. Did he hum songs about her when he bathed as well? Was his passion as ardent as hers? The elated grin on his face told her that yes, he also did all of those things. 

‘When?’

They were so close that her eyes fluttered to his plush lips; she felt _needy_. Almost touching, he uttered. ‘Since I saw you.’ 

Before she could question his reply, the waltz ended and he reluctantly let go of her, bowing. She made a reverence, dazed. Mirth shone his eyes at her visible confusion and flushed cheeks. He enjoyed it! She cocked her head, a challenge quirking her mouth. But then the applause came and the crowd and the questioning gazes and Nicholas’s envy and her father’s fury - all at once, she realised what she had done. 

Luke seemed to catch on too, giving her a sad, apologetic smile that made her shake her head (don’t go - please!) and ran off before anyone could interrogate him. People gasped as he sprinted past them, quick, like a ghost in the night. 

Julietta swallowed, awkwardly meeting the stares of her people and strolled back to Carrie with faux-nonchalance. 

(She loved him and he loved her and that was all she could think about.) 

‘Now _that_ is what I call a _sexy_.’

‘Carrie,’ Julietta hissed, becoming more flustered by the second. Where did he run off to? Could she still catch him? 

While her father was still silently fuming, prince Nicholas approached them with a steady pace. Julietta tensed. Oh, no. 

Sensing her trepidation, Carrie nudged her. ‘Go,’ she urged, gentle. ‘I’ll distract the prince.’

Relief flooded her. ‘Thank you,’ Julietta breathed, smacking a kiss on her cheek and running as fast as she could out of the ballroom. Where could he have gone?

How dare that dashingly idiotic boy of hers say such beautiful things and then expect her to move along like normal? She turned past corners and hidden nooks and alcoves they’ve spoken before, but was left fruitless. Had he gone back outside? It would take forever running through the gardens. But then she heard him. There, at the end of a long hallway with stone vaults casting moonlight in pools across the floor, was her love, illuminated. 

‘Luke!’

He looked to his right, startled for a second that he was called, but then breaking into a wide smile as he ran towards her. His mask flung off, eyes blown into something she could only describe as Need, and met him halfway. 

Her lips crashed into his, his strong arms circling around her waist and her grabbing fistfuls of hair to keep him close. Weeks of longing stares, lingering touches and yearning to then _finally_ kiss all came to a euphoric crescendo in this moment. He kissed her roughly, again and again, and she was deliciously drowning in it. This was better than anything she has ever experienced. Luke _loved_ her. 

They stumbled into a wall, too excited and eager and neither wanting to let go. She laughed against his lips, uncontrollably. He nudged her nose, that giddy expression unwavering. Her heart was bursting, singing his name, beckoning him to come closer. Julietta kissed him again, softer this time. Warmer.

‘I love you,’ she whispered. 

His fingers dug into her corset and gulped. He shook his head, the incredulous pinch between his brows making her ache. ‘Are you sure?’

She chuckled, bemused. How could he be insecure about her intentions? How could he not feel her heart in the palm of his hand, beating just for him? Caressing his cheeks, she said: ‘I have never been more sure of anything in my life.’

He kissed her in response, languid and hot that made her toes curl, and peppered one on her jaw. ‘I love you too.’

Her skin rippled from his touch. Every kiss left a different sensation. This one rumbled from deep within, uncoiling desires she hadn’t known of. ‘I was hoping for that,’ she breathed. 

Luke laughed, so bright and so joyous and so _him_ it made her want to cry. She placed her head on his chest and hugged him, fingers clutching his jacket. He didn’t move, pressed his face into her shoulder and breathed her in. Julietta never felt so beloved. 

‘How long?’, she whispered. 

‘Hm?’ His hands began circling her back, callouses caressing the bare skin and knocking any sensical thought out of her. She grasped for words. 

‘How long have you loved me? I don’t know when you first saw me.’ 

His hands stilled. ‘When you looked me in the eye,’ he whispered. Pulling back slightly to look her in the eye, his shimmered with affection. ‘At the stables when you ran from the palace and we _saw_ each other.’ And then he said the words that made angels sing: ‘I felt it.’

‘I did too,’ she rushed out and pecked his lips because it was all too much for her poor heart to handle. ‘I haven’t found a word for it though. I think “love” is too small.’

Luke seemed dazed from that single peck, his answer a beat later. ‘I’ve been writing you a song trying to find it.’

‘Can I hear?’ 

Luke nodded, rapidly blinking, and cupped her cheeks. His features glossed over as if he didn’t quite hear her. He was enamoured. ‘Not right now,’ he murmured.

‘Yes… not right now.’ The princess closed the fraction between them again, kissing him leisurely and marvelled at how perfectly she fit within his body. They were made for one another. 

And in that moment, she realised what all of this meant. Luke was her soulmate. This irrevocable truth that would never die. Julietta never wanted to be away from him anymore, never wanted to look at anyone else anymore. It has always been him; fated by the stars in the sky and the thunderous waves as they all winked and whispered _it has always been him._

She knew this ball was to have a “second chance” with prince Nicholas, but if she came forth with the love of her life, then they couldn’t say no to her. Not when she was hopelessly in love and lost her breath any time he casted a glance her way. 

His lips trailed from her lips down to her neck with warm, slow kisses. She gasped, that sensation from before lighting her on fire as she tightly clutched onto his neck. _Oh_.

‘You smell like flowers,’ he mumbled. 

‘You might,’ she choked, ‘have to stop right there. Please.’ Sinful thoughts swirled in her brain and she was too drunk on him right now to act responsibly. If she weren’t a princess, she might have acted on those emotions. But she was, and she didn’t want them to have any regrets. 

Luke nodded, unfocused, and kissed her shoulder. It burned. ‘Of course.’

Pressing her forehead against his, the lilt in her breathy voice gave her true feelings away. ‘Another time.’

That mischievous grin returned as his teeth grazed his lower lip. She melted. ‘Whenever that may be.’

Her smile widened. ‘Exactly.’ 

(‘I love your eyes the most.’

‘Yeah?’

‘They’re the perfect shade of blue. And when you smile they become brighter.’

‘I love your lips the most.’

‘Why?’

‘Cause they’re mine now.’)

***

_Heaven descends upon me every time you touch my hips, lips, hair. Is this what worship feels like? I’d rather pray for another second in your arms than the good graces of God. Love, do you feel the same?_

***

She was hurriedly awoken by Luke.

After their loving confessions in the corridors of the palace, he’d taken her hand and ran into the sweltering heat of the outside and disappeared into the rose maze. They were both aware of the problems that would arise sooner or later, but for one night, they wanted to belief that wasn’t the case. That he was just Luke and she was just Julie and no duties were awaiting her when she went back.

They sat in a cul-de-sac where he first kissed her cheek for the entire night and talked and kissed and snuggled into one another, eventually falling into a peaceful slumber. Julietta has never slept this well.

(Before he woke her, she had already opened her eyes an hour before, when the sun was barely peeking above the horizon and the sky was a dull blueish-grey. Hypnotised by the sleeping boy next to her, the way slow puffs left his pronounced lips and his eyes moved behind his lids, like he was having a vivid dream. The way his hair stood in all directions, partly from sleep and partly by her. How boyish he looked, younger and less troubled. Julietta, choked up from love, had let her fingers trail over his soft, sun-kissed skin and marvelled at the fact that he was hers. She was his. Luke then mumbled incoherent words under his breath and shifted closer. Closing her eyes again, she wished upon her mother to always be with him. And when his arm crawled onto her waist, she knew the message was received.) 

But then he woke her up and her decisions began to weigh on her. She ran out of the masked ball hours before it ended and never returned, no idea what excuses Carrie and Flynn made up for her. She left her father enraged and Nicholas confused. She didn’t sleep in her room and Maria likely found out about that. Oh, God. 

‘Julie,’ he hissed another time and she finally spurred into action, stumbling upright and grabbing bunches of her dress. Her once glamourous gown was muddied and has shifted around a lot during her sleep. Julietta ducked her head, shameful, as she pulled the straps over her shoulder. 

He tilted her head up, careful eyes observing her poorly hidden turmoil. ‘Hey,’ he whispered. ‘It’s fine.’

He was referring to her dress, to which she shook her head. ‘That’s not what I’m worried about.’ And then she kissed him, hard, and ran out of the maze, head whipping left and right like an anxious bunny in fear of running into a guard. Just as the hidden alcove came in sight, a voice stopped her. 

‘Princess?’

Her head whipped around, coming face to face with a confounded William. In the light, she noticed his high cheekbones and shiny black hair and understood why Alexander was attracted to him. There was no time to linger on that though. She rushed towards him, desperate. 

‘You owe me your life right?’

He nodded, pensive. 

She grinned, relieved to have allies. ‘Then get me into the palace without anyone noticing.’

William didn’t even think twice, throwing his coat over her shoulders and steering her into the alcove, shielding her from possible people passing by. 

‘May I ask why you were outside before breakfast?’, he whispered, grabbing her wrist and pulling her up the stairs. 

‘How much does Alexander know?’

Tilting his head, amusement quirked his features. ‘That Reggie gave Luke his suit? That he’s in love with you?’

Hearing the words from someone else made her stifle a giggle. ‘Yes.’

A maid walked by and William pushed her behind his physique, a stoic expression falling on his face as to not raise suspicion. When she got around the corner, they kept going. 

‘You…’ Embarrassment creeped in his voice. ‘Spent the night with Luke in the gardens?’

Julietta grimaced. ‘Not like that. But yes… I did.’

They finally got to the quarters of the royal family members, quietly stepping by Carlos’s room. He was a light sleeper and she’d be mortified if he was the one finding out. The boy didn’t have to be burdened with secrets and lies. As inconspicuous as possible, she knocked on her own door. It flung open a beat later by a relieved Flynn and pulled her inside before she could react. 

‘Thank you,’ she whispered over her shoulder.

William bowed his head, winked, and flitted away as if he was never there. A secret for a secret. The door slammed shut. 

‘Where were you?!’, Flynn exclaimed. A bored Caroline laid on her chaise longue, inspecting her nails. 

‘Isn’t it obvious, Evelyn?’, the Saxon princess drawled. ‘She had a wild night with her prince charming.’

Julietta squeaked in defiance. ‘I did not! I mean, I did, but not like that! I-’ A silly laugh left her lips, catching the attention of both girls. ‘I- I love him. And he loves me.’ She lowered on her bed, reminiscing the delightful moments. ‘And we kissed…’ Julietta giggled, unable to keep it in. Flynn’s frown softened, sitting down next to her. Carrie’s smirk was wide and knowing. ‘A lot.’

‘You are _glowing_ ,’ Carrie gushed. ‘Although… you do look rumpled.’

Flynn pulled her back to earth. ‘And your father was furious. He didn’t show it, but he had that look on his face.’

She bit her lip. That wasn’t good. ‘And prince Nicholas?’

Carrie waved the worry away with a flourish of her hand. ‘I took care of him. Boys are _so_ easy to manipulate.’

Oh, God. An unsupervised Caroline usually meant trouble. She’d been so focused on Luke that Carrie “handling the situation” was often paired with radical behaviour. 

‘What did you do?’ Her big, pleading eyes prayed for her to say something innocent. 

Carrie shrugged. ‘We danced and he found my poor French accent quite charming.’ A relieved breath left Julietta. ‘And then I kissed him when he got annoying.’

She gasped. ‘Carrie! Did my father see?!’

‘Of course not,’ she sputtered. ‘Who do you think I am? We went into the hallway.’ Scrunching her nose, she added: ‘I told him about my plans to acquire estate and he was like: “But you’re a girl.” A girl! I’m _older_ than him! He’s lucky he’s not a pitiful kisser.’ The longer she went on, the stronger her English drawl came through.

Julietta snatched her hands. ‘You’re a _godsend_ , Carrie.’ 

Flynn snapped. ‘Julietta, did you _not_ hear me? Your father is _mad_. Guard William had to escort you inside from the gardens and it looks quite incriminating. Change your dress now before he comes over. You know he’ll give you an earful before breakfast.’

Shooting up, she realised Flynn was right. Here she was, babbling with Carrie about frivolities like the nonsense Nicholas spewed when she disappointed her father again. Their final chance at an allegiance between Las Almas and the Court of Versaille: evaporated. It also meant her father would have to seek further for another match - shipped away from Flynn and Luke to kingdoms whose languages she never even heard of. The ballerina Catalina Marinetti came back to mind, the Russian starlet who gave up everything to dance here and _still_ had to deal with old men touching her body. Julietta felt sick simply entertaining the idea. 

She switched her gown for a simple day dress and brushed her hair, using a ribbon to tie it back and have it look presentable. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, but other than that, there were no traces of what she did last night. Julietta swallowed. Why did she feel so guilty? Ashamed? Their love was reciprocal - if anyone should be ashamed, it was her father for continuously pushing a betrothal she had no interest in. It was obvious now that it meant nothing to Nicholas either if he let himself he ravished by Carrie; for him it was purely business. She couldn’t let that behaviour fester and taint her soul. 

Her eyes steeled. She had nothing to be ashamed of and that was final. 

That unfaltering confidence began waning when the inevitable knock resounded from her bedroom door and all three girls shot up. Even Carrie, ever the nonchalant one, was nervous. Flynn and her squeezed her hands and then opened the door, greeting the king in passing and scurrying off to breakfast. She met her father’s silence from across the room, tension so thick it clenched her throat shut. 

Julietta didn’t know when she began fearing her father. It wasn’t an obvious fear. He didn’t hit her or abuse her, he let her roam the gardens and read whatever she pleased, he let her play with fashion - really, she couldn’t actually complain. 

But she feared him, whenever his eyes glossed over with that empty, cold stare, whenever his laugh was too wide to be genuine, whenever he raised his voice. She feared a repeat of the meeting, which already seemed like a lifetime ago, where his blazing fury struck her like a knife and she mourned his loss of humanity. His loss of trust in her. 

And then she wondered if her father feared her just as much. She was eighteen and opinionated and in a secret love affair. Even if he didn’t know about the latter, she bet he felt it his aging bones. Her wistful smiles weren’t obscure. 

His gaze trailed past her to her growing collection of books and her easel with an unfinished painting of the landscape outside (Luke’s silhouette sketched in the distance), to the perfume bottles on her vanity. His expression was unreadable. Shifting uncomfortably, she held onto a beam of her four-poster bed, staring at the floor. Waiting. 

‘Who did you dance with yesterday?’ His tone was devoid of any colour. She didn’t know whether he was the sheep or the wolf. 

She bit her lip. ‘I don’t know. A stranger.’

Seeing straight through her lie, he sighed. ‘Julietta, this was a private party - no ball for the island. If he wasn’t one of us, then it was someone of the help that infiltrated.’

Infiltrated. He made it sound like Luke committed a murder. She clenched her jaw. ‘What are you trying to say, father? I don’t know who it is.’

He quirked a brow, red veins thick in the whites of his eyes. ‘Then where did you go after? You mean to tell me you weren’t trying to find this “stranger”?’

Julietta couldn’t breathe. The more questions he asked, the more apparent it became how endangered Luke was. _She_ put him in this situation. She should’ve shooed him away the second he whispered in her ear. Shouldn’t even have asked him to come in the first place! What if someone recognised him or saw them in the hallway? 

‘No, father,’ the princess whispered, face tremoring. ‘I didn’t. I was unwell.’

When she expected him to scream, to rage, to throw a book, he did the opposite. And that scared her more. Raymond tutted. ‘Yes. Lady Evelyn told the same story. Very well then.’

When he stood up to leave, her voice shot up. ‘What are you going to do?’

A sardonic smile crawled on his lips, her trepidation sinking in. The wolf. Never a sheep. ‘Why, find the intruder, of course. Bring him in front of the inquisition for treason against Las Almas.’

Her world tilted of its axis. The room was turning and her sight was blurry. No. No, no, no! 

‘Treason?!’, she squeaked. 

‘Because of this stranger, we lost any chance of keeping our kingdom strong for centuries to come. He made us all vulnerable. And you know we don’t cry in this family, Julietta.’ He tilted his head, a fake sense of sympathy exuding from his grim look. ‘My flower, you shouldn’t have danced with him.’

And then he left, leaving Julietta with her shame and guilt and tears, the avalanche of terrible emotions suffocating her. She dropped to the floor and sobbed. How did everything turn _so_ ugly _so_ quickly? Why did life have to be like this? Why couldn’t she just love whoever she wanted? And she roped Luke into this mess. Choked tears blubbered from her lips as she imagined how her heart was bleeding from its frayed edges. So many times stitched up that it was worn out. She didn’t want this agony anymore. Luke dying because he loved her would be the end of her as well. Trembling hands pushed her towards the balcony, failing numerous times until she was able to open it and let the breeze cool her skin. 

‘I’m so sorry, Luke,’ she whispered. 

Her watery eyes caught a guard doing his rounds around the castle. Her breathing quickened. She could save Luke. She could save his life and get him out before he got intercepted. If that meant a life without him - fine. Rather have his pulse continue for decades to come the end right here. Alexander and William and Reginald were her allies. They could help her. Alexander - he’d be at breakfast by the doors. If she could somehow communicate with without anyone knowing…

Her feet took her to her desk before she realised her plan. Right! A note! Slip a note in his jacket pocket and everything will work out. 

_My father wants to kill you for treason. Leave the grounds and save your life. I love you. - Julie_

The message was horribly short and frank, but she couldn’t hide how severe the situation was. She couldn’t risk it. 

As expected, Alexander’s inconspicuous figure stood next to the doors in the dining hall, one that was awfully quiet save for the ringing of cutlery and glasses. Not even Carlos and Carrie were joking around, normally chattering about the most nonsensical topics. The note was between two fingers behind her back, passing Alexander without shifting her expression and lagging momentarily for him to get the hint. He understood, grabbed it without anyone noticing, and Julietta continued moving towards her seat. It was less than a second. 

Alright. If her plan worked, Luke would have run off the grounds by the noon. Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling. It meant that - God, she couldn’t cry at the table - she wouldn’t be able to say goodbye. It was too dangerous. Her father would know immediately. 

Julietta wanted to scream at the sky, wanted nature to feel how enraged she was. Luke was her soulmate. Of all the people in the universe, she found her other half - or rather: the one that made her full self feel _better_. A tiny sliver of goodness and it was ripped away from her. 

She forced two spoons of pomegranate in her mouth and then couldn’t anymore. No one commented on it. 

After breakfast, Julietta was the last one to go, wanting to be alone. Flynn’s worrisome expression didn’t waver when she asked. Neither could remember the last time they didn’t walk from breakfast together. 

What she didn’t expect however, was Alexander dragging her away from the other guards and holding the note in front of her face. ‘I can’t give this to him. He’ll go insane.’

A scowl twisted onto her cheeks. ‘It’s either insanity or death. Easy choice, no?’

‘Julietta.’

‘What do you want me to say?’ Her voice broke, a new set of tears welling up. ‘I made a horrible mistake and now he has to pay for it.’

He frowned. ‘You both fell in love.’

‘I let it happen,’ she bit. ‘I shouldn’t even talk to the help in the first place.’

‘Julietta, I don’t think you’re hearing me.’ It was the first time she realised how informal he was addressing her. She’d find it touching he considered her a friend, but her mind was elsewhere. ‘He’ll go insane because he loves you. He has nothing outside of these palace walls. He’s not going to leave you.’

The tears spilled over, silently. She knew it. She knew they’d be doomed the moment they kissed. She had the foresight and yet she ignored it. How much guilt could eat at her before she was nothing but dust?

Her lips quivered. ‘Then… then…’

 _“If I were you, I’d run away with him without a second thought.”_ Carrie’s jovial sentence burst through all the sorrow, the idea so insane - so radical, desperate, deranged - that it might actually worked. Julietta wasn’t thinking clearly. But maybe that was the point. She done thinking logically. She loved Luke, and if she couldn’t be with him here, then she’d be with him somewhere else. Simple as that. 

But she’d leave Carlos to his own devices. She’d leave her bosom friend. She’d betray her kingdom, slander her family’s name. She would never be allowed to return. She’d lose her title, her standing, her dresses, her jewellery, her books - everything.

Was Luke worth all that? 

Then again, has she truly cared about any of those superficialities after her mother died? Has her father shown her a speck of warmth when his wife became an angel? Her mother was queen, had everything she ever wanted, and then just died. She died. She didn’t come back. All she had was useless. Julietta didn’t remember the exact colour of her eyes or how her lips quirked when she laughed, but she did remember how her mother made her feel. The special connection with her mother would never fade, transcends time, space and death. 

So if love was priceless, then what was she still doing here?

‘Julietta?’

‘Then I’ll run away with him,’ she whispered, meeting his stunned gaze. ‘Then we leave together.’

‘Uh,’ he scraped his throat, ‘are you- are you sure about that?’

A smile broke onto her face. ‘Yes!’ She was frantic, wheels in her head whirring at a pace she couldn’t keep up with. ‘Yes! Give me-’ She grabbed the note and took a pencil from a hidden pocket, scratched out the middle sentence and wrote: 

_Let’s run away together._

‘Julietta, you’re the princess,’ he tried again. 

‘No.’ It was icier than she intended, but the revelation hit her hard. She pressed the note into his chest. ‘I’m a pawn.’

She barely held it together the remainder of the day. After Alexander left to hand over the revised note, she bid goodbye to Carrie, who was oddly quiet when they did. What was normally a melodramatic happening filled when cheek and air kisses, crushing hugs and the promise to write, the Saxon princess only held her tightly. The kind of embrace where both knew this wasn’t a temporary goodbye. It was the goodbye. Julietta didn’t ask how she came to the conclusion herself. Maybe her own words rang to her as well. 

Carrie squeezed her hands tightly, a remorseful smile twitching on her lips, nodded and then left. She didn’t turn around. Princess Caroline never looked back. Princess Caroline was the bravest person Julietta has ever met. She hoped that hug seeped some courage into her skin. 

Alexander found her again when she sat in the sun room, soaking in the sweet smell of the dahlias that always adorned the space. She didn’t come here a lot, as dahlia’s were her mother’s favourite and, well… it hurt. But she supposed her mother deserved a final visit. 

‘He leaves tonight,’ he said. Something was off, but she didn’t have it in her to ask. If she really wanted to be as courageous as Carrie, then she’d ask Luke in person. Tonight. A seed of hopeful bliss budded in her chest. Tentative, waiting to bloom. Everything would be alright. She’d explain everything once they were off. 

The sun trickled past its highest point and began lowering west, shadows lengthening at an infuriating slow pace. She has become uneasy, pacing in her room with her stomach in knots. She wrote letters for her father, Carlos, Flynn and Maria, but it never came out right. She kept rewriting and scratching out words, never confident in the structure. Did she expect it to be simple? Especially to her little brother - he’d grow up without his sister to guide him. To be a confidante if the stress of becoming ruler got too much. Would he forgive her? Understand her decision? (Did he need to?) He was so young. 

She needed to escape, she reminded herself. After eighteen years, she had to choose herself. Carlos would be fine. 

Her father’s letter was stoic and short. Maria’s more a thank you card than a letter. Flynn’s was an apology. Guilt, a plead for forgiveness, a reminder that she would forever be her best friend, no matter where they were. _Remember what you said about our friendship? “It is written in the stars. And if not, then I’ll make sure it’s written down.”_

After another quiet dinner where father mostly discussed upcoming events they had to attend in the capitol, Julietta went back to her room to get ready. She placed the letters (still unsatisfied, but no better way either) on her desk, packed a small satchel with essentials, a pouch with money strapped around the waist of a simple, sturdy dress. She threw a thick cape over her shoulder, black and one not suitable for summer, but she supposed it would come in handy later. The only frivolities she kept were her songbook, diary and the golden necklace of her mother. She looked around her room for a final time, bricks lodged in her throat, and let her hand stroke the satin sheets. More she did not allow. 

Julietta snuck out. She was an expert by now. Via the hidden exit through the alcove, she ran into the gardens without any of the guards noticing. She was quicker than usual, a casual corset rather than a royal one that sucked the air out of her. She ran past the familiar parks and fountains, past the rose maze, the sculptures and the recreational fields. She didn’t look over her shoulder. His figure, hauling bales of hay inside the shed, appeared in the distance. For the first time since she saw his sleeping face next to hers, she felt a tinge of lightness in her step. 

‘Luke!’, she whisper-yelled, love overflowing her senses once more at the sight of him. 

He looked up, Julietta nearly faltering in her sprint from his expression. His face was twisted in pain and turmoil as he stood frozen on the spot. She realised he must be petrified for his life. But everything would be fine! Julietta propelled herself the last meters. Everything would be fine, she reassured herself. A smile broke onto her face, but right as she reached out for him, he flinched away. Oh. Her hand twitched. 

‘Julie, you shouldn’t be here,’ he grumbled, eyes not meeting hers. 

The nerves made her grin. ‘No, Luke, did you not read my note? Please, look at me.’ She needed to see his smile, his eyes, his feelings; he had to know she meant it. Slowly, blue found brown. For a split second, the world didn’t hurt. 

Julietta grabbed his hands. ‘I don’t care what my father says. I want to be with you.’

‘Julie-’

‘You read my note, right? We can run away together! Please, look-’ She showed the pouch under her thick mantle. ‘I have money. We can run away and choose our own lives and-’

Her words were cut short by him furiously shaking his head. Abruptly, he ripped his hands back and, consequently, made Julietta stumble away from him. Her jaw fell slack, stunned by the sudden shift in character. He didn't look like himself. Was he… mad? Her entire being was trembling. He kept shaking his head, almost like he was trying to get water out of his ear. What was he doing? Why was he acting like this?

She gulped. ‘Luke… why’re you-?’

‘Julie!’, he roared. Angry tears built in the corners of his eyes as his body tensed up and his hands were balled into enraged, white fists. ‘Don’t you see?! I can’t be with you!’

His words were a knife to the heart, a choked fumbling coming from her mouth. ‘What do you-? Luke. You’re not making sense.’

‘I can’t-’ Gripping his hair, he began pacing back and forth, warring with himself. Julietta looked on, horrified. This was not how it was supposed to go! He was supposed to kiss her and tell her everything would be okay and steal Canción and ride away, disappear between the mountains and never come back. 

‘I can’t hold you back,’ he said, emotion boiling beneath the surface. ‘I can’t be the one stealing you away from your title as princess. I have nothing to offer.’

‘Don’t you understand?’ She almost laughed. ‘I only want you! I don’t need anything else!’ 

Luke scoffed. ‘Julie, are you even hearing yourself? You grew up in a palace with dresses other women couldn’t even _imagine_. You never had to lift a finger. You would die the second you went into the real world!’

Every syllable hurt more than the last, each one a deadly strike in the chest. Julietta sneered, lips quivering. ‘Is that how low you think of me?’

His eyes widened as he realised what he said. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘But you did,’ she bit. The entire plan was crumbling in front of her eyes. Was her entire vision of Luke just… a vision? ‘I thought you saw more than just my title.’

‘I do!’ Luke exclaimed, closing the distance. The outward anger melted away at the sight of her hurt look. He softly grabbed her hands. It hurt. She knew how this would end. Luke already made his decision and he was trying to find a way to tell her. It hurt to know this was the final time they’d touch, yet latched on, if only to hold him for one more time. His face was frantic, the storm going on inside him flaring and dying at a rapid pace. ‘I do, I- I love you.’

The first tears fell, her next words throaty and pained. ‘Then _why_ won’t you be with me?’

‘You know why.’

‘I can’t imagine my life without you,’ she blurted, intertwining their fingers. He _had_ to listen, had to trust what she said. ‘I don’t care about dresses or dinners or balls, I only ever cared about _love_ \- and the love I have for you.’ She placed their entwined fingers on her chest, for him to hear her stuttering heart that was wholly, fully his to claim. That he _already_ had. 

For a moment, his defence seemed to be waning. His features softened and his grip on her hands tightened and a hopeful smile - a diamond shimmering in a cave - crawled on his lips. She pressed her forehead against his. She heard how his heartbeat synced with hers, how they breathed as one - elated, scared, nervous. _It has always been you._

But then the moment was over, the spell broken by whatever devil was whispering in his ear and his stance hardened. He pulled back. 

‘No,’ she whispered, erratic. 

Luke detangled himself and let the cold air take place between them. 

‘No, no, no, _Luke_.’

‘Julie, go.’ He walked back to the shed. 

‘No, Luke!’ Grabbing for his wrist, he ducked away. Vulgar fury began licking at her feet and quickly exploded in all directions, feet stomping on the ground. ‘Why are you doing this?!’, she yelled, raw. ‘Why did you trick me?!’

Hearing that, he whirled around. ‘I didn’t trick you!’, he snapped, hurt and even angrier.

‘You always knew who I was and that never bothered you! But now, when push comes to shove, you throw me away! Like dirt!’

‘Don’t put words in my mouth!’

‘I wish you never loved me!’, she screeched, the doomed words like a curse lifting into the night and freezing everyone in its place. Time stopped.

She heaved. His disbelieving, wounded expression made her, for one moment, feel a bittersweet sense of pride. Steeling herself, she added the venom: ‘I wish I never loved you.’

Something snapped shut inside of him at that, the light behind his eyes disappearing and turning grey. ‘Okay.’

Julietta blinked. ‘What?’

‘Glad you got that out,’ he nodded, lips twisted in a grimace. ‘Makes this all the easier.’

Argh! No! What has she done?! Why did she have to say such vile words?! It was furthest from the truth! She couldn’t lose him. 

‘No. No, no, no, Luke. Stop. I didn’t mean-’

‘Princess?’ A voice perked up from behind them, remorseful. She looked over her shoulder. It was Alexander, his cap gripped between his hands. Even better. He must’ve heard half of their fight. ‘They’re looking for you.’

No. _No_. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. Julietta would rather die than go back. She’d rather die than not be with Luke. Her love for him was greater than anything she has ever felt. She knew that now. 

‘No,’ she blubbered, tears blurring her eyes as she felt life slipping through her fingers. Love vanishing like smoke. ‘No!’ Her head whipped back to Luke and threw herself into his arms, kissing him passionately and deeply and hoped, prayed, wished-

He pushed her back. He didn’t look her in the eye. It hadn’t been enough. Something cut loose. 

‘Luke,’ she choked. ‘Please don’t do this.’ 

His jaw clenched, the man she adored now unrecognisable. ‘I’m sorry, Julietta. Alex, could you escort the princess back to her palace?’

A gentle hand pressed against her shoulder, but she ripped it away. ‘Luke!’

‘Princess,’ Alexander whispered in her ear. ‘If you’re not back soon, they’ll start investigating and might not be as forgiving as I am.’

Her burning stare was fixed on Luke’s hunched back. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak. He waited for her to _leave_. Whoever she laid next to that morning died. Whoever she kissed last night was a fake. Why did he do this to her? Why did he look at her the way he did over and over and over again? Like she was the only girl on the planet he would ever adore. Why did he not pull away before they got too close? Why did she not follow her own warnings? 

Weak on her legs, she tried once more. ‘Luke.’ _It’s always been you,_ her heart whispered. 

‘Princess.’

She nodded, solemn. ‘Alright,’ she whispered. The last colours of the sky faded into a murky black. Raising her chin to make herself as dignified as possible, she took Alex by the crook on his arm and walked away, every step weighing her down. Every step a stab in her body. She was walking away from the one person she thought would always make her feel at home. Her fingers pinched into Alex’s sleeve. 

‘Sorry,’ she muttered. 

‘It’s alright,’ he whispered. She noticed how his eyes were red too. He lost his friend as well. All because of her. 

Once Alexander brought her to her room and assured her that everything would eventually be okay, he left (everyone always left), and she began to cry. She hasn’t stopped crying all day, but this time it felt like the tears were infinite. 

Staggering to her desk, she threw all the letters in the trash, haze white from anguish and hurt and - it was too much: feeling - and everything hurt _so much_. The haze continued, running like a bull towards her bookcase and ripping every romance navel in sight, throwing it on the floor and stomping on it, ripping pages from the bind. Everything they’ve ever told her was fake! There was no Pyramus to her Thisbe, no Orpheus to her Eurydice, no Romeo serenading at her balcony for his own beloved Juliet. There was only tragedy. 

How could the entire world she once held dear lie to her? 

Her sobs were uncontrollable, chest aching from the heaving and lids swollen. The door flung open, Flynn rushing in and wordlessly holding her tight - the sole anchor keeping her from losing it all. She cried with her. 

‘It _hurts_ ,’ she wailed. 

She couldn’t feel him anymore. She used to feel this tug, this push and pull between like, they were connected by one of her hair ribbons. But that was gone now. He wasn’t near anymore. They cut it. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. 

_My love,_ she thought, _why did you cast this cruel fate upon me?_

Julietta didn’t leave her room for three days. 

Flynn forced her to eat and brush her teeth, but she did nothing more than lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. Alexander came in, once, to tell her Luke successfully managed to escape. “I just thought you should know,” he said, apologetic. The investigation stopped short when they figured a stableboy had left the premise and decided to leave it at that. He was rubbish anyway, they whispered. Nothing on his back but clothes. 

Julietta didn’t cry after her breakdown with Flynn. She stared and went over every memory she had of Luke, tried to find anything that should’ve raised suspicion from her part. Nothing came to mind. His smile was just as warm as when they properly met and when they put the skins of oranges on their teeth and giggled the afternoons away. Just as awed by her dunking him underwater as he was when they almost kissed in the barn. Was just as in love with her as she was with him, frenzied and drunk from each other’s lips. She recalled chasing after his lips when they hid in the rose maze and him burrowing his face in her neck when she secretly woke up first. How his jealousy whenever she mentioned prince Nicholas never lessened. Never tried to push her in the blonde’s arms.

Luke wanted _her_ \- until he didn’t.

Most of all, she missed how no one called her Julie anymore. 

She missed hearing the pebbles hit her balcony window. 

She missed feeling excited to wake up, to spend the afternoon with Luke. 

She missed, she missed, she missed. (She missed the way his callous fingers dug into her waist; how her corset did nothing to keep the sensation away, how she felt exactly where he was. That he never failed to pull her close and not let go. Why did he let go?) 

On day four, Maria told her to get out of bed as she had to change the sheets and to “perhaps take a bath while you wait, princess.” Flynn helped her with the bath and stayed, even when the foam covered Julietta’s puffy face. Guilt gnawed whenever Flynn stayed. She had been ready to leave her friend without a proper goodbye for a man that didn’t want her. When she had previously promised her a better life if she somehow became a reigning queen. It was embarrassing. 

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Julietta spoke, hoarse. ‘I don’t want to go outside.’

She smiled empathetically. ‘I know. But the fresh air will help you feel better.’

‘Flynn?’

‘Hm?’

She looked down. ‘I was supposed to run away with him.’

A heavy beat of silence. A sigh. Waiting for the disappointment. Another sigh. Rage never came. 

‘I expected something like that would happen after princess Caroline said it.’ She sounded tired, a hint of amusement in her eye. Julietta has always been transparent to Flynn. 

She met her gaze through the foam. ‘You did?’

Flynn nodded and let her eyes wander to the window. Julietta kept looking. She wondered if she had been born as part of the help, her life would be better. Theoretically, Flynn’s life wasn’t as spectacular compared to Julietta’s. But at the end of the day, she went to her quarters to eat with her parents and other people like her. A community within the palace walls she had no grasp on. Alex, Reggie and Luke - three boys with completely different occupations and different ages, yet somehow close friends. 

But that would never be her life. Like Alex said: she was the princess. The princess, the pawn, the to be betrothed, the sister of a future king that was eight years younger than her. The love from her novels didn’t exist, so what was the point in hoping a love like that worked out in real life? Her father had been right all along. Marrying Nicholas was the best option for her. It would be emotionless, painless, but maybe that was the way it was supposed to do. Whatever weapon Luke had used against her to make her feel like this should be illegal. No one deserved to feel this hurt. 

‘You will be happy again, Julietta,’ Flynn then mused, still fixed on the window. ‘Just not the same as before.’ 

After her bath, she decided to dress in something appropriate and spritz some fresh perfume on her neck and wrists to give her pep. She belatedly realised that the top notes were oranges, by then deciding that those memories in the orchards were unimportant. Luke ran away _without her_ , and when someone ran away, the only thing you could do was accept the new twist one’s life took and, well… move on.

(But she missed him.) 

And so, on the fourth day, Julietta Rose Molina confidently marched towards her father’s chamber. William had post outside his door and gave her a confusing glance. 

‘William, is my father free?’

His confusion deepened. ‘Yes.’

A smirk slipped on her face, pushing everything she felt down, and walked inside without a knock. Her father’s chamber was grand. High, terracotta walls with fresco’s, dark wooden furniture, a desk passed down for generations, stained windows shaping pink dahlias. She never went visited the chamber, another reminder it would never be hers to rule from, but it was one of the most beautiful places in all of the palace. 

Father knew this and raised his brows from behind his desk, a piece if parchment limp in his hand. 

‘We’re not knocking anymore, I see.’

‘My apologies, father.’

He gave her a once-over. ‘Has the fever been waning?’

Bless Maria and Flynn and they continuous stream of great excuses. He seemed to actually believe it. Perhaps because she truly looked and felt sick five days ago. 

‘Yes,’ she smiled. Then, she shook the tension from her hands and said: ‘I have come to apologise.’

He put the paper down, full attention on her. He didn’t look peeved, so he must be in good spirits.

‘I am deeply sorry for putting Las Almas at risk. It was horribly unprofessional and I think that, for a moment, I lost sight of my duty as princess and role model. I’ve tainted our name, but if there is any way I can rectify that, please let me know.'

A light, approving smile grew on his aging features when she clasped her hands together and graciously waited for his answer. That smile had only been reserved for Carlos for months, Julietta finally back on the receiving end of his good graces. Her father and she used to confide in one another. He let her sneak food under the table she didn’t fancy and she took a stroll with him around the fountain whenever she sensed his distress about something. Or even younger, when the weight of a kingdom hadn’t hit yet, he read her in the sunroom. Fairy tales, of princesses saved by princes, of knights slaying dragons. Perhaps he encouraged her romantic mania. It didn’t matter anymore. She wasn’t four and he was jaded from the death of his lover. Life was, irrevocably, different and would forever warp into something more unrecognisable until she went to the mad house. 

‘I am glad you’ve come to your senses.’ He laced his fingers together. ‘I am curious. What do you propose we do?’

Oh. She hadn’t thought it would be this easy. The princess had been ready to plead, fib more, equally defend and shame her decisions. Not once did she think he’d ask for her solution. Was there much to solve? “Three time’s a charm” didn’t work in a situation like this, she suspected. One maddening performance and a heated waltz with a stranger would leave anyone with a bad taste in their mouth, _especially_ prince Nicholas and queen Madeleine. If she were him, she’d stay far away. But now she had to beg for him back. It felt like the antithesis of who she was, but she supposed her entire life had been a crooked frame for the past days (or the past months, if she wanted to demonise her relationship with Luke). Julietta almost chuckled at the analogy. Here she was, trying to find solutions, and her mind wandered to poetic pastures. The princess didn’t linger on what that meant. He was gone.

Her brain churned for _something_. For days, cotton wool had been stuck between her ears and ribcage, numb. An apology wouldn’t be enough, a soirée contrived, a letter delayed and useless as she still held a small grudge and refused to write in French to appease him. Did her mother teach her something of value about romance? 

She taught her how to use a telescope and how to discern the constellations and how to dance and sing and play the piano and ride a horse like man. The bloomer suit used to be her mom’s. Not once did they discuss her future betrothal. Maybe because she had been on a crusade to make Julietta the successor, maybe because she always knew how meaningless it would be. For a moment, Julietta wondered if her mother ever loved her father or if that was just a figment of her imagination. And if she did, then she died in the arms of her non-lover. That sounded rather horrifying. 

So, if Nicholas and her had to work then they would have to be in love. Julietta made a face. An impossible task. He thought she was insane and she thought he was boring, both two extremes on the spectrum that he wouldn’t even fathom proposing. Something otherworldly needed to change everything. 

There was one more thing her mother taught her. Father called in nonsensical pseudo-science, but Julietta had been quite intrigued at the time. 

And excited grin wiped her face. ‘Hold on, father. I may have an idea!’ She didn’t wait for his reply, running out the door and letting William close it for her.

She ran back to her room. Flynn and Maria were gone, luckily, Julietta wanting to be alone for this. Wandering towards her bookcase, she took note on how empty it was. Maria cleaned up after and threw all the ruined books into the hearth. She missed the colourful spines winking back at her, but the void was welcomed. It allowed her to think. A few books remained. There, on the top shelf stuck to the side, a book her mother gifted her when she was eight, hushed voice forcing her to promise she wouldn’t tell her father.

He called it witchcraft, her mother called it alchemy.

The book, a condensed encyclopaedia of alchemy for the beginner, laid on her lap. She had browsed through it a couple of times, whenever she couldn’t sleep and needed to read some words that didn’t make sense and lulled her into a fantastical dream, but never studied it. Her mother planned to find her a teacher after her basic schooling was done, but she never came to it. The book taught her to keep secrets from her father. For a while, that was what she thought alchemy was. But she knew it was more. It made the impossible possible. 

She went to the index and searched for something - anything - that might be useful. Her finger fell past the M and stilled. _Manipulation_. The word stared back at her, scandalised she even dared stopping there; Julietta pushed herself to find page 278 a beat later. 

_Chapter Thirteen: Manipulation_ was once again divided into sections. _Corporeal Control, Emotions, Power, The Simple Fib, Wealth._ Fear briefly flared inside of her at the menacing subjects. Control over someone’s body? That mustn’t be ethical. As her emotions were the problem, she flipped to _13.2 Emotions_ and took a deep breathe. If there was no solution, she’d officially be stuck. 

_Emotion, the most powerful piece of the Soul, is equally the easiest and the hardest to manipulate. With the rules of persuasion and a flourish of the hand, you could change anyone’s opinion, reader. If that isn’t enough, listed below are certain experimental solutions one could try. Beware! Alchemy on the human psyche has yet to be fully explored._

All that was listed was far too convoluted and difficult for Julietta, its vernacular unknown to her. Ingredients were in Latin, sentences that went on for a full page, “spells” in an alphabet she didn’t know. She sighed. This was hopeless. Just as she was about to close the book and shamefully tell her father she had no proposition, her eye caught a foot note. 

_*If all else fails, love potion prevails!_

A love potion. Mischief coloured her cheeks. She flipped the book and looked at the bind, the author’s name sparkling in gold. Caleb Colbaynstoun, renowned alchemist from the Caspian Empire and with his own atelier amongst the Intelligentsia in the capitol of Las Almas. Two hours by carriage. 

Sprinting with the book in the hidden pocket of her dress, she gave to halt in front her father’s desk again, panting. 

‘The knocking is not a suggestion, Julietta,’ he scolded. 

She didn’t listen. ‘Father,’ she rushed. ‘Is prince Nicholas coming to Las Almas any time soon? Business endeavour?’

He frowned. ‘Why?'

‘I may have found something, but I would first like to know if he’s available in the forthcoming months?’ In those moments that she was awaiting his response, Julietta didn’t think of Luke or all that they’ve shared. She thought of saving her family and her kingdom and the Molina dynasty. 

Fortunately, he seemed to believe her. Perhaps it was the ferocity with which she spoke. ‘He’s back in Las Almas in two weeks to learn more about trade. He wasn’t going to visit us, but I can manage an arrangement.’ He paused. ‘You are sure you have a solution?'

More like a potion, father, she wanted to say. 

‘I need to take the carriage to the capitol,’ she announced further, causing a moment of surprise on her father’s face. ‘For the solution.’

‘Julietta-’

Gruff twist of her mouth, she balled her hands. ‘Do you want me to marry the prince or not?’

He staggered back in his seat. She had been blatantly angry at him before, but never to this degree. It scared herself even. She wondered if her mother had the same sneer on her face, the same blazing in her eyes when she fought for Julietta’s rights. It made her oddly uncomfortable, like her mother had always been pushing her in one direction and she was now going to opposite way.

‘Very well,’ he muttered. ‘You can take the carriage.’

‘Thank you, father.’

Misery from the past days yelled at her to stop, to stop pushing the boulder up the hill and to just let go. But she couldn’t. She’d been a little, naive girl for too long. Too long has she latched onto the memory of the meadow with her mother and, consequently, Luke. She was done.

She recalled Flynn calling her “morose” the days after, obsessively reading the encyclopaedia or playing the harpsichord, all with an indifferent look on her face. It kept her focused. She wasn’t “morose”; she was steadily rolling that boulder up the hill.

Flynn told her once again when she was packing her satchel for the trip to the capitol.

‘When I said you will be happy again, I didn’t mean you had to force it with witchcraft,’ her friend said, concern lacing her tone. She watched idly on the side as Julietta continued packing, undisturbed. 

The royal messenger was able to get in contact with Sir Colbaynstoun and got the address for his atelier - an “exclusive club for the Intelligentsia” he apparently called it. It left a bad taste in her mouth, but if he was able to make a love potion, then she’d deal with his arrogance. They didn’t tell him the princess would be gracing his presence, however, in case he had a dangerous streak. Aware he was from the Caspian Empire and likely wouldn’t recognise her as she didn’t come out into the public much, the alias Georgina has been given to her nonetheless. 

Julietta buttoned her bag. ‘It’s alchemy and plenty of people exercise the craft.’

‘Still doesn’t sound very appealing.’

‘You just have to read about it,’ she quipped dismissively. 

‘Julietta.’ Her harsh tone made the princess look up. ‘A love potion is not going to help you with your heartbreak. I would love for you to be happy with prince Nicholas and live happily ever after - but not like this.’

‘That’s the entire point of the potion, Flynn.’ Forcing a smile, she added: ‘It will _make_ me happy. It’s medicine.’

‘... I don’t support this.’ The words collapsed in on her like a dead tree falling to the ground. Loud, colossal. 

She froze. Of all the things Flynn could’ve rebutted with, Julietta hadn’t expected this. Flynn always took her side. Always helped her. If Flynn didn’t have her back, no one had. The familiar feeling of loss, of silk thread slipping through her fingers, lodged itself in her ribcage. 

She swallowed. ‘What?’

Flynn crossed her arms, something akin to fear trembling behind her eyes. ‘I’d prefer to not be your lady-in-waiting as long as you’re acting like this. You’re not you, Julietta. I always support your duties as princess and your devotion to your island, but not like this. Never like this.’

It was as if the windows shattered in the wake of Flynn’s words, flinging shards and rendering Julietta speechless. The bag fell out of her hand. 

‘Flynn, you can’t mean that,’ she breathed. 

Her bosom friend pointedly stared behind her head. ‘Princess, please remove me from my position.’

‘Flynn, please-’

‘Princess Julietta, I’d prefer to help my mother in the seamstress hall.’

Her mouth snapped shut. Did she just lose her best friend in the span of a short conversation? Was it truly that easy to lose everything all at once? The guard that would be escorting her knocked on her door, snapping them out of the forest fire they created. Another pleading look was casted at Flynn, but she remained hard as stone. Julietta’s shoulders trembled.

‘Alright. Evelyn,’ she whispered. _Don’t go._ ‘You are dismissed.’

Dignified, her friend that wasn’t a friend anymore, lifted the hem of her skirt and strutted out of the room, an unsure guard meandering in the threshold. She didn’t know him. She wondered if her father deliberately chose someone she had no ties with, if he knew more than he let on. Was she warm? She felt dishevelled. 

‘Princess Julietta,’ he stumbled. ‘Your carriage awaits.’

Grabbing her bag, she mustered a poised nod and walked out the door, the guard three steps behind her. _Don’t cry, Julietta, only weaklings cry._

The carriage ride to the capitol was uneventful. Cobble stones beneath keeping her and the guard from relaxing, bouncing in their seats. She groaned. Another reason why she preferred horseback riding - far smoother and serene than a clunky thing like this. It kept her head above water however. That was good. She couldn’t - wouldn’t - allow herself to be submerged in the blaze of Luke. Luke was an eclipse: once in a lifetime, painful and stunning. Julietta supposed she was in a poetic type of mourning today. She wanted to look to her right and tell Flynn she was moving on, that her heart was slowly gluing itself together, but then remembered Flynn was no more. Evelyn was with her mother. 

The sun was high in the sky by the time they passed through the stone walls of the capitol. The guards who tended the gates were deeply surprised seeing the princess of Las Almas visiting the city unannounced, to which she commanded they spoke about this to no one. If she wanted to, Julietta could be furiously demanding. It was the amalgamation of observing her father, the teachings of her mother, and mimicking Carrie’s sneer in the mirror. 

After they left the carriage by the guards station, they got to the streets. The hood of her cape hid most of her face to the commoners, her guard shadowing her a street apart. Georgina was no royalty; a simple maiden curious about the great alchemist Colbaynstoun. The atelier was easily found, a stately brick frontage with a gold leafed frame around the door. _La casa de la alquimia_ etched in stone above. A feeling of mystique washed over her as she touched the doorknob. She pushed the shiver down and pressed all her weight against the door, the heavy thing creaking open. Dust flew from shelves stocked with books as wind caught on. Julietta wrinkled her nose. A prestigious place for the Intelligentsia marred by dust? Ha. (Or perhaps that was part of the charm. Julietta wasn’t particularly well versed in the subculture.)

Looking over her shoulder, the guard nodded at her form a distance. She steeled her nerves, closed the door, let herself be caught in the dark and slowly made her way through the long, curving hallway. 

At the end was a dot of light, a spacious room flickering in hundreds of wicker candles. She craned her head, taking sight of the hardwood flooring, the high oxblood walls, ladders reaching to the tallest shelves. Books, more than she has ever seen thrown together haphazardly. And there, in the middle of the room bend over a wooden work desk, a man. Sir Caleb Colbaynstoun. He was the tallest man she ever encountered. 

Julietta stilled her stammering heart, the chilling unfamiliarity pounding in her throat, and took her final steps. No turning back now. 

Reaching her full height, she called out: ‘Sir Colbaynstoun?’

The man, dressed in a velvet suit and top hat, didn't turn at the sound of her voice. His table was littered with herbs and spices and liquids and glasses of all peculiar shapes. 

‘Ah, the elusive Georgina.’ His voice was deep and had an exotic, Caspian twang. ‘Always pleased to meet a fan.’

She mustered a smile, ignoring the weird phenomenon of not being addressed with the formal "princess". It was oddly liberating. 

‘I hear you have a question,’ he continued, referring to her letter. She caught sight of his profile, striking features carved out of dark shadows and black hair. He looked like a storybook character. 

She came out of the threshold, cautious. When she heard Flynn's voice telling her to stop, it spurred her to push forth and stand on the other side of the desk. She had a full view of his face now. Charismatic, but... off. He grinned at her in a way that reminded her of her father. 

She placed his book on the table, making sure she didn't move anything. ‘Pleased to meet you as well. And yes, I do. I was wondering about a certain footnote in your book.’

He nodded, eyes unwavering from the concoction he was creating. It looked like the slime of a slug. Julieta withheld making a face and opened the book on its respective page. 

‘You mention the existence of a love potion. Is that real?’

This piqued his interest, dropping his scalpel and magnifying glass. He gave her a strange look and then grabbed the spine. Has no one ever been as desperate as she was to come claim the potion? Checking that she was indeed truthful about the existence of the footnote, he sighed and gave her a sympathetic look that didn't quite reach his eyes. 

Putting it back down, he made a flourish of the hand. ‘The tragedy of young love. Star-crossed, might I guess?’

She shrugged noncommittally. The twitch of her lip betrayed her. ‘Perhaps.’

He began wandering around his atelier, eyes searching across shelves and bookcases for something in particular. She followed from where she stood. A story tumbled from his aimless voice. 

‘A young man came by a few days ago. Asked for a potion to take away all the heartache. Poor lad, seemed really out of it.’ He went up a ladder and grabbed a crate. ‘I explained to him what the potion entailed and he declined. Miss Georgina, what you wish to receive is quite potent.’

Unfazed by his disclaimer and the story of another client, she commented lightly: ‘A potion being potent sounds like a good invention.’

He laughed. ‘Yes. Very perceptive.’ Inside the crate, more bottles and vials clattered together. All held liquids in various bright and muddy colours. One pitch black, the other a mossy green, a blood red. 

‘The man declined because the side effects are... extreme.’

He has yet told her anything that didn't sound appealing. She became impatient. ‘What are the side effects?’ 

Caleb held the one containing cerulean blue liquid in the light, its colour shifting silver. 'You'll forget about your previous lover,’ he declared. Julietta froze. ‘No memory, no heartache. It'll allow the potion to activate within the new receiver of your affections as your heart won't be haunted anymore.' 

Forgetting Luke? How was that even possible if every thought was painted with the colour of his smile? What did this potion contain if it meant a significant part of her brain would disappear? 

‘Will it ruin my brain?’, she blurted out.

He chuckled. ‘Of course not. It creates… free space, so to speak. Turned the poor man off though.’ Clicking his tongue, he added: ‘Preferred pain over oblivion.’

It would wipe Luke from her memories, let her forget she ever saw those eyes and that smile and the feel of his calloused finger against her waist. Would make her forget waking up and looking into his serene, boyish face and that overwhelming sensation of rightness. _Your heart can rest here for a while, Julietta. His hands are warm and safe. His love will stretch around your soul and you will never feel cold again. Your heart can rest. You can stay._

But then _he_ didn’t stay. That sensation was false. 

‘Oblivion sounds rather peaceful…’, she mused. 

Caleb hummed, head tilted. ‘It is.’ He grabbed another vial from the crate, slim with a pearl topper and blood red flowing inside. It dangled in front of her nose, tantalising. His smile widened. ‘You wish to buy it?’

Save the kingdom, save Las Almas, have her father on her side again, marry Nicholas, have riches and fortune and anything else she asked for - be the princess everyone wanted her to be. Forget Lukas. She wouldn’t look at her window out of habit, waiting for a pebble to hit. She wouldn’t slow down at the hidden alcove. She wouldn’t accidentally smile seeing doves nip at the water of the pond. Her hands wouldn’t claw into her skin at night, trying to feign the feel of his hands. The Fever of Luke would be killed.

For Las Almas.

‘Yes.’

(Days later, she’d receive a letter from sir Colbaynstoun. “Lovely doing business with you, princess Julietta”. He’d always known. But how? Did he recognise her? Were her simple robes still too flashy? She prayed he wouldn’t tell a soul about her appearance.)

King Raymond kept his promise. A week after she bought the vial and stared at into during sleepless nights, letting its red liquid shimmer in the moonlight, it was announced that prince Nicholas was back on the island. He’d visit the palace for tea. 

During that sleepless week, Julietta never saw Flynn. Maria took up all the chores Flynn usually did until they found her a proper replacement. It was a different kind of cold seeping into her bones every time she waited for Flynn to come in and help her choose a dress and share the gossip, and then didn’t. No more impromptu dance parties, no pulling funny faces from across the room, no one to vent with after another unbearable meeting with her father and his ministers. 

Guard Alexander kept a closer eye on her, she noticed. He did more rounds by the places she frequented and caught her gaze a lot during dinner. She didn’t know what it meant or why, but it unnerved her. If he had something to tell her, he should just come forth. Then again, maybe he had an inkling she has plotted an escape from her miserable mind and didn’t want to worsen it. Whatever it was, he didn’t speak to her. Just watched. Waited. 

The maids had prepared the sunroom for his visit, sterling plates and cups and tiers of small cakes ready to devoured. Nerves that prinkled her skin urged her to eat a bonbon before he arrived. She needed the energy. The vial, hidden beneath her sleeve, burned. It was foolish, but it felt like she was about to poison the prince; kill emperor August like Livia did. She didn’t have time to question the ethics, however, as in that moment a guard opened the glass doors and prince Nicholas walked in. He was still as dashing as before, yet nothing pulled at her heart strings. She truly felt empty staring at him. 

Julietta smiled and stood up, a small reverence as greeting. 

‘Bonjour, Nicholas.’ 

He lifted her gloved hand and kissed it, a charming smile competing with hers. ‘Hello, princess Julietta. You look beautiful, as always.’

His compliment didn’t have the same impact as a breathless Luke looming over her in the rose maze, clutching her and not letting go. But that would all change now. Just a few more minutes and then all her pain would disappear. 

‘Thank you.’ She motioned for them to sit down. ‘I hope you like gugija-cha.’

He blinked. ‘Excuse me?’

She nodded at the steaming pot, tension tightening in her neck. ‘It’s… it’s just berry tea.’

‘Oh.’ His smile returned. ‘I love berry tea. Thank you.’

As she poured their cups and nervously dumped two spoons of honey in, he kept talking. ‘I must say I was surprised you requested for my presence. I assumed you were… busy. With other endeavours.’

Julietta chuckled. She hoped it didn’t sound bitter. ‘There has been a misunderstanding. A grave one at that. I apologise for making you think otherwise.’

‘That’s alright.’

Nipping at her tea from the rim, she looked at the prince through her lashes. He was looking around, marvelling at the copious amounts of flowers curled onto the glass and furniture. Sunlight smeared the floor with specks of gold, reflecting into pinks and purples. She hoped the dress she chose complimented the space well, and that’d he’d notice it. 

‘Tell me what you discussed with the Minister of Trade,’ she probed, hoping he’d be lulled by her gentle, clement expression. Plus, she knew he loved talking about depressingly boring topics. 

It worked. ‘Of course, well…’

Nicholas began lamenting about his experience in detail, recounting conversations with verity and adding his own jokes that didn’t land. He was no jester. What she hoped for, was a distraction. Her fingertips tapped against the vial in her sleeve repetitively, any time she was ready to roll her eyes or sigh, she’d tap against the glass and remember why she was here in the first place. Save Las Almas, forget Luke. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

And then it happened; In a flare of enthusiasm he sprung up and began pacing around the room, animatedly telling a certain anecdote. When he wasn’t looking, hands thrown while staring at the outside, she slipped the vial from her sleeve, screwed the topper of and let a few drops fall in his cup. 

Julietta looked at her cup and hesitated. Her hand was paralysed. Whatever happened would be irreversible. A new truth would sink into her mind, one that didn’t include Luke. 

Save Las Almas, forget Luke. Tap, tap, _tap_.

By the final tap, she tilted the vial and the rest off the drops fell in her tea. It sparked and burst, and then nothing. It was still tea. 

Julietta stuck it between the seat when he turned back around. He puffed out a breath, sheepish. 

‘My apologies, princess, I just get so excited about trade markets.’

Nausea crawled up her throat. ‘I understand,’ she mustered and then took a miniscule sip from her tea. It didn’t taste any different. He wouldn’t know.

He looked down at his watch. ‘It’s five. Am I overstaying my visit?’

‘No!’, she yelled out, too brash. He stumbled back. She fixed that gentle expression from before. ‘Why don’t you finish your tea first. Wouldn’t want it to get cold.’

He nodded, giving in. ‘Of course…’ Sitting down in his plush chair, Julietta watched him with baited breath. Please work. Please not be a sham. Please work, please let it work. Nicholas drank. 

And then she waited. She waited for her feelings to change, for Luke to blur and fade. Nothing happened. She watched him eat a bonbon and mutter something about exporting exotic teas like these to the Court of Versaille and fiddle with his sleeve and then he looked up. Their eyes met. 

Oh. 

Something shifted. 

A warm feeling bloomed in her chest, like sitting by the fireplace during wintertime and heating ones hands, as she realised that Nicholas was rather… attractive. Not just nice-looking. Has she always liked blonde tufts of hair and never registered it? A smile crawled on her lips, hesitant, as if her muscles had forgotten how to form one. 

Nicholas gaped at her, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed. His hands were trembling, unsure what to with them. Then, suddenly, they snatched hers from across the round table. She gasped, the sensation tingling every nerve in her body. Has she experienced anything like this before? It felt new. She squeezed back. 

‘Have your eyes…,’ he mumbled, ‘always been this gold?’

Her eyes weren’t golden in the slightest, but the comment made her abashed either way. ‘Thank you. I… I don’t know. I… prince Nicholas, I don’t think I can pretend not to feel what I feel anymore.’

He furiously nodded, standing up and taking her with him in the motion. He pulled her closer, their smiles widening. His blue eyes shone with pure, unadulterated love and Julietta yearned to keep looking. Finally. Someone that loved her.

‘Yes!’, he exclaimed. Confusion flitted across his face for a second, but then disappeared again. ‘Yes! I- I- Yes, that is reciprocal. Princess, I- I love you.’

She let out the faintest of breaths, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. ‘I love you too.’

They laughed in relief. Nicholas kept shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. But it was! Finally! Someone that loved her! Oh, how foolish stupid she was for standing on the sidelines the entire night at the masked ball, how she only snuck glances. How lovely dancing with him at his ball was, how she had dreamed of doing it again. She should’ve send him an abundance of letters instead of sitting by herself in the meadow, reading. 

‘I know this is… bold and abrupt but…’

Julietta giggled, endeared. ‘Say it, love.’

He gulped. ‘Will you… do me the honour of taking my hand in marriage?’ 

Tears sprung in her eyes at his words, overjoyed that in this life and after, Nicholas would love her. Marriage! And all she had to do was love him as deeply as she did and he simply reciprocated that. Love was as romantic as the books, yet easier than the characters made it seem. 

‘Yes,’ she whispered, fingers brushing against his cheeks. ‘Yes. With my whole heart, yes.’

For a moment she thought to see his hair as brown and messy, his eyes a little darker and the jaw a little sharper, but then she blinked and it was him again. It must’ve been the light. It didn’t matter though. She felt so so so happy having him in front of her. 

‘Let’s go to my father right now!’

She took his hand and ran with him down the winding hallways, laughing and whispering loving things and startling everyone they passed. She nearly stumbled into a confounded Alexander, giggling a “sorry” over her shoulder as the warmth in her chest kept spreading like fire. She was so warm. She always thought love would leave chills down her spine, but it was _warm_. And he was warm. His smile and his eyes and everything else! 

He laughed, for a split second sounding like someone else, but it was still his laugh. 

She tried to recall why she wasted so much time, why Flynn and Carrie hadn’t pushed her more to pursue Nicholas, but it didn’t matter anymore. Her father would be overjoyed! Princess Julietta of Las Almas and the future queen of the Court of Versaille. 

They stopped in front of his chamber, panting. 

His lips came to her ear. ‘You’ve never looked more beautiful.’

She grinned. ‘Never stop saying it.’ And then burst inside, proclaiming her love and how Nicholas asked for her hand before Raymond could get a word in. He stood up, stunned, and stammered at the couple. She knew it was abrupt, but this was what they all wanted, right? 

Her father and Nicholas discussed it enthusiastically as Julietta stood by his chair, hand on his shoulder while her face felt so warm and glowing. Her heart thudded abnormally fast and it was the best thing ever. This was what love was! She never wanted it to stop! 

The men decided to send a letter to queen Madeleine to announce the great news, to which Nicholas realised with grief that he was supposed to only be in Las Almas for one day and had to be on the ferry by nightfall. Her shoulders fell slack. She finally had her love within reach and now he had to leave? How unfair! She didn’t want Nicholas to be out of her sight for one more second. 

‘Let’s marry tomorrow,’ she blurted. 

Her father blinked. ‘What.’

Nicholas sprung up, elated. ‘Yes!’ Promptly kissing both her hands, he continued: ‘I don’t want to be away from you any longer.’

‘I don’t either,’ she cooed. 

‘Julietta.’ Father came in between. ‘We have nothing prepared.’

She dismissed him. ‘He has his suit and I’ll wear my loveliest dress and we’ll just go to the chapel of the palace. I don't need anyone there but you and Carlos.’

Not convinced, he turned to the prince. ‘What about your family, Nicholas?’

He clicked his tongue, only having eyes for her. ‘They will understand.’ Julietta nodded. Everyone will understand. How could they not? Her and Nicholas were made for each other! 

Raymond hesitantly agreed. ‘Alright then… Julietta can I speak with you for a moment? Alone?’

Her hold on the prince’s hand tightened as she raised her chin. ‘Whatever you want to say, father, you can say to Nicholas and I.’

Everything she said confused him more, which angered her. Didn’t he want her to be happy? Be in love with Nicholas and live happily ever after in that beautiful palace of his?

‘If you insist,’ he gritted. ‘While I am very pleased by this match, you seem to rush things. You were in quite the different mood yesterday, Julietta.’

‘Why, yes, father! I was heartbroken my love wasn’t with me!’ She placed her head on his shoulder, the touch sparking more heat from her temple. ‘Don’t you see?’

Eventually, after a back and forth that went nowhere and stuck by the definitive point of Nicholas and Julietta being in love and _needing_ to marry tomorrow, he relented. King Raymond gave them his blessing and it was decided. Tomorrow at one, they would marry for the people of Las Almas and then celebrate more in the Court of Versaille. Maria would help her pick and out and potentially alter her prettiest white dress whilst Nicholas stayed in the guest quarters. Julietta supposed they could be apart for twenty-four hours if it meant they’d spent the rest of their lives together. Ah! The thought made her blush. Nicholas and her - forever! 

She skipped to her room after bidding Nicholas goodbye with a kiss on the cheek. Closing the door behind her, she fell against it with the dreamiest sigh. The sky was beginning to darken, first shimmer of the moon peeking through the clouds. What a perfect day. Warm, but perfect. She wasn’t getting feverish, was she?

Fanning her face whilst approaching her desk - she had to write about this in her diary! - she noticed a small object laying next to it. A note too. 

_you left this in your chair, princess - guard alexander_

She picked it up. It was a slim vial with pearl topper. Curiously, she let it roll in her hand. This was hers? Why would she bring something like that with her for tea? She’d never seen the peculiar thing before. Oh, well. She put it aside and threw the note in the bin, sitting down. Opening her diary, she lovingly went through all the entries she made about Nicholas. Her poetic musings about his charming smile and how eloquently he spoke about business. She got to a blank page and picked up her pen. It was cold, unlike everything in this room. how odd. The climate must be all out of order. The pen was elegant and encrusted with gold. Was it real gold? Shrugging, she began writing. The ink flowed beautifully and captured every word with her truest emotions. 

_Tomorrow I’ll marry the dashing prince Nicholas and then I’ll be princess Julietta Rose Auguste! Isn’t that just wonderful?! Or maybe I’ll change my name to French! Juliet. I can’t fathom spending my life with anyone else but him. It’s so exciting, my dearest diary, as he is just down by the east wing. My future husband, just a few feet away. What if I_

A pebble hit her window.

Julietta shrieked, heart stammering in her ears as she clutched her chest. What was that?! Is someone outside her window? A criminal?! 

Another pebble, more aggressive this time, just as she was about to call for Maria. She bit her lip, cautious steps as she slowly approached the window. A shuddering breath left her. Julietta should not be afraid. She was a princess and the future queen of an entire kingdom. Maria didn’t need to baby her. 

Her window creaked open and then, tentatively, she peeked over the balcony balustrade. Dusk had fallen, only vague contours to be seen by moonlight and faraway lanterns. It was a man. 

‘Julie!’, the man whispered, tears welling in his eyes. 

She stiffened. Julie? How dare he use a _nickname_ for a member of the royal family. He clearly was not of her status, with his raggedy shirt and loose pants, and therefore prohibited of using such casual salutation. ‘Please leave, young man. You’re not allowed on palace grounds!’

Desperation clung to his voice. ‘I know that, Julie. But please! Listen to me! Alex told me about your plan and I’m not gonna let you do it, Julie! I can’t! I love you! I love you so much. I never should’ve left you.’

What was going on? Julietta was deeply confused and frightened. She has never seen this man before in her life and now he was proclaiming his love for her? A stalker by her balcony! How did he get through the gates?! 

‘Leave! Before I call on the guards!’

Then all of a sudden, guard Alexander appeared from around the corner. She let out a breath of relief. ‘Alexander! Please arrest this man! He’s a-’ Her voice faltered as Alexander whispered something in the man’s ear and the stranger froze.

‘I just found out,’ Alexander muttered. 

‘I don’t believe it,’ he said, a fire behind his words that vehemently disagreed with whatever Alexander told him. Her hands clutched the balustrade. What in the world was going on? 

The man looked up. ‘Julie? It’s Luke. Please tell me you remember me. Please tell me you didn’t go to the alchemist. Please-’ His voice broke. ‘Please don’t- Please still be here with me.’

Despite his intrusion, her heart broke for the poor man. He was clearly distressed. Did he hit his head perhaps? Was this all one big mistake? But how did Alexander know him? How come was he so calm? 

‘Alexander, can you-’

‘Julie, I love you,’ the man blurted again. Julietta was stunned. Whatever was happening has not been taught in her royal lessons. ‘I love you. And you’re allowed to hate me till the end of time and I will understand that.’ He came closer, a wash of yellow light illuminating his face. Turmoil twisted his features. ‘But _please_ remember me.’

Peering down, she noticed the man was quite handsome. Not as handsome as Nicholas, but with that head of brown hair and deep blue eyes, she was sure he attracted plenty of girls. Why was he here if he could go to pub in the city and have a maiden around his shoulder? 

‘Alex-’

‘That necklace around your neck? That’s your mother’s,’ he exclaimed, his words like a slap in the face. Julietta was paralysed. How did he know that? ‘You put more weight on your right leg because you broke your left after you fell off your horse when you were nine. You love caramel bonbons. You love the meadow cause it reminds you of your mother. You love Canción. You love playing the harpsichord and you have the literal voice of an angel. Do you hear me, Julie? And I also know that you love me - or used to, at least.’ His tirade softened at the latter, she still stunned and frozen on the spot. 

This man… knew everything about her. Details she hasn’t told anyone, not even Nicholas. She hardly ever left palace grounds and always hung around the same people, so how did he know?

His voice steeled, jaw clenching. ‘I know that love potion makes you forget. But I _refuse_ to believe what we had can ever be forgotten.’ He was so determined, so much faith in every syllable he enunciated, like an impassioned speech that advocated for a better future.

It wasn’t enough though. 

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, shattered. His shoulders fell slack, hands trembling and inconsolable by a meandering Alexander. She was too confused to even begin questioning how they knew each other. Weakly, she added: ‘Alexander… please.’

Just as the guard grasped his shoulder, he ripped himself loose and opened his mouth with a gasp.

‘You're just too good to be true… can't take my eyes off you,’ he sang, low and melodious. Oh, God. Julietta was mortified. 

When she didn’t move from embarrassment, he saw it as a sign to continue.

‘You'd be like Heaven to touch,’ he crooned, overflowing with emotion meant for her ears only. She didn’t know how to react. ‘I wanna hold you so much…’

Alexander walked back to his side, a part of his jacket still visible to her. She realised he was playing cover for the man. This was a joined scheme. Her most loyal guard betrayed her? The man continued singing with ardent ferocity that it made her ache.

‘At long last love has arrived and I thank God I'm alive,’ he laughed while he sang, causing her lips to quirk. While she didn’t know why she had to hear this, he had a beautiful voice. 

‘You're just too good to be true…’ He came even closer, now right below her balcony he almost felt right next to her. His eyes shone with an emotion she has never seen before. ‘Can't take my eyes off you.’

Julietta gulped, a painful jolt clawing at her ribs. She clutched her torso, frightened. What was happening? Was he casting a spell on her?!

‘Luke, you got to hurry!’, Alexander called from his post. 

A smile pulled on his lips as he kept going, his entrancing voice creeping between the folds of her dress, weaving its way in her hair. An unknown, curious force brought her closer to the balustrade, slightly leaning over.

‘Pardon the way that I stare. There's nothing else to compare.’

Didn’t she once look over her shoulder to find a boy staring back, intently and fond and disarming? Didn’t she experience that before? A laugh twitched on her lips, blinking rapidly. 

His hand reached up, still so far away. ‘The sight of you leaves me weak. There are no words left to speak…’

Didn’t she find herself trapped between someone’s arms in the rose maze? Wasn’t his smile just as endearing as the man in front of her? Her fingers began to shake, more erratic flares erupting beneath her skin. She yearned to be the girl he sang about. 

He spread his arms, elated. ‘But if you feel like I feel, please let me know that it's real. You're just too good to be true… can't take my eyes off you.’

And then it happened. That final jolt that shrivelled that suffocating heat from her heart and washed it away with the ocean, its colour the shade of his eyes. Julietta gasped out his name. 

‘Luke!’

All at once, her memories rushed back. The sensation of thunder striking her in the chest. The rippling thrill of a hand gliding down a piano, fast paced violins that whirled in her chest when she drowned her entire being in the music, trumpets chiming when her eyes met his. 

Love wasn’t warm. Love wasn’t perfect. It was _alive_.

Love was Luke. 

An exhilarated smile broke through, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. 

Without a second thought, her hands clutched the ivy by her balcony that clung to the brick walls and struggled her way down. She heard anxious shouts from both the boys, but she didn't care. It was as if she has been in a dark room her entire life, devoid of colour and sound and meaning and she _finally_ found it again. Nothing silly like ivy would hold her back. Jumping the final meters down, she didn’t give herself time to recover as she flung herself into his arms. They circled around her waist and it felt like coming home. 

‘I’m so sorry,’ she rushed out into his neck, deep sorrowful regret as she felt his wet cheeks touch her face. Her voice cracked, tears mixing with his. ‘I’m so sorry. I love you. I love you. I love you so much, I-’ She grabbed his cheeks and kissed his full on the lips, him instantly pulling her closer and kissing her back just as passionate. It was heavy and rough and imperfect and it was all has wanted for weeks. 

Luke kissed her lips and cheeks and nose and neck and eyes all while choked giggles left her mouth. Julietta was overwhelmed by the fact that he was _here_ . Somehow, he has returned. He came back for _her_ . Risked his life for _her_.

He kissed her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, I never should’ve said the things I said.’ 

‘Where did you go?’, she whispered, fingers caressing his face. He was _here_. 

‘The capitol,’ he uttered. ‘Found a tavern to sleep and work in. Alex came to tell me you were in trouble and I got here as fast as I could.’ He swallowed, dazed by having her so close but trying to focus. ‘Julie, do you remember what happened to you today?’

She blinked, confused. Why was he asking her about her day? ‘What do you mean? I just-’ 

Julietta froze. It came back to her. The alchemist, the potion, the tea with Nicholas. Oh, God. Her face turned a ghastly grey, the sensation of fainting near. She accepted his hand in marriage. She’d marry him tomorrow. 

Her head jerked towards Alexander, the nervous guard flickering between the couple and the palace. ‘Alex, what do we do?’

‘I don’t know, princess, but you really have to hurry up.’ He bit his lip. ‘I don’t know how much longer they’ll keep away from this part of the patrol.’

The absolute fear of losing him again, to _death_ this time, made her clutch Luke’s shoulders. ‘You have to go! You’ll go to the inquisition if you don’t and they’ll kill you for whisking me away.’

Luke shook his head. ‘No, that’s not- that’s not gonna solve anything. You’d still be here.’ Something shifted in his expression, like a riddle being solved. An amused smile quirked on his lips. ‘Run away with me.’

Her mouth fell slack. ‘What?’

‘Run away with me,’ he repeated. Luke was dead serious, no flare of uncertainty or mirth to be found. But this time, he wasn’t angry. He wanted her. He wanted to be with her forever, just as much as she did. 

Julietta pulled him closer by the collar, the haze of having him in her arms almost too much to bear, and whispered: ‘Marry me first.’

‘Guys.’

Luke blinked at her in disbelief. ‘What? I- yes, but- we don’t- there’s no priest.’

Julie grinned, pecking his lips. ‘Have we ever done anything by the rules?’ 

And when he grinned back at her, enamoured by her words, she knew he’d say yes. She’d lose it all. Her family, her kingdom, her name. But none of that meant anything if she didn’t have him. She’d rather marry the love of her life and run away because she would get to love Luke - irrevocably. _It’s always been him._

Julie dropped down on both knees and he, surprised, follow suit a beat later. She latched onto his hands tightly.

‘Guys! Make it quick!’ Alex’s scared voice broke through their trance for a second, skittish smiles shared between them. 

‘I love you,’ she uttered, thick. She wished there were words to express how much. ‘More than _anything_.’

His beautiful smile and beautiful heart beamed back at her. ‘I love you and I’ve wanted to marry you since you gave me your songbook.’

A new wave of tears spilled down her face, mouth quivering as she continued. ‘I will love you till the stars lose their shine. I will love you when you’re ill and I will love you regardless of what you’ll do in life. I’ll keep choosing you because I love you, Luke.’

He kissed her again, cheating the rules and making them laugh, shaky. ‘I will love you,’ he whispered against her lips, reverently. ‘I will love you till my dying breath. I will love the sound of your voice and your laugh and any decision you want to make in life. I will love you when you’re angry - even if it’s at me. I will love you… and I’ll keep choosing you.’

They sealed their vows with a searing kiss, a golden stamp etched in their hearts no law could deny. In the distance, they heard clattering foot steps, the shouts of officers and guards and there, on a balcony by the east wing: Nicholas. 

Something snapped inside of her, adrenaline spurring her upright and dragging him with her. They had to go! Now! 

‘Alex!’, she exclaimed. The agony of betraying the palace and losing two people twisted his face into a scowl. She wished she could help him, but there was no time. ‘Thank you,’ she breathed. ‘And never leave William!’

‘I owe you everything, Alex,’ Luke rushed out.

Alex remained frozen, his stance steeling with newfound strength and confidence. ‘Go!’, he commanded, pointing into the darkness. ‘Go before it’s too late!’

Luke didn’t have to be told twice. He grabbed her hand as the shout came closer, Alex swiping his sword from his scabbard to hold the guards off.

‘Where are we going?’, she yelled. Her mind was flailing to catch up, but right now, all she had to do was run, run, _run_. The rush of adrenaline propelled her to match his sprint. 

‘Hole in the hedge,’ he panted. ‘How I got in.'

‘You made a-?’

‘Julie!’

‘Sorry!’

They raced towards the edge of the grounds. He let go of her hand, ducked, and smoothly slid across the moist grass, disappearing between the leaves of the hedges. Julie took no chance to hesitate and gained speed, letting her legs fall beneath her and sliding down. Her face got scratched by prickling branches, but as a hand hauled her back to her feet, she realised she was standing outside of the palace. A gasp left her. 

He kissed her again. ‘Keep running,’ he breathed. 

And they did. They kept running through the forest that paralleled the cobbled street towards the capitol. Behind them, the palace was in hysterics. Screams and blaring horns and horses clattering. It went like that the entire night. They ran and ran and ran and hid behind shrubs when guards rode the streets, oblivious to their presence a few meters away. They didn’t stop. 

Julie almost couldn’t believe it. She was no longer princess. After all these years, she finally, truly, followed her gut. Her mom’s soul glowed within the jewellery dangling around her neck. 

After hours of tiresome running and waiting and ripping off layers of skirt from her dress to move more comfortably, dawn broke through. Five in the morning has never looked so glorious.

They were muddy and scratched up and she was pretty sure her knees were bleeding, but it didn’t matter. They were free. The guards lost their tracks around two. She squeezed their intertwined hands tightly when she caught sight of the capitol, winking at them from the horizon. They both knew they wouldn’t be able to stay there - not long, at least - but it was a start. 

‘So,’ he muttered, ‘the tavern I’m working at? When I said I slept there I meant I slept in like, the attic. It’s not much, but-’

She silenced him with a sweet kiss. How was he still insecure about that? ‘It’s perfect,’ she whispered.

His gaze softened. ‘It is.’

(Later that day, when they snuck inside the capitol without any suspicious looks, they collapsed into the tavern’s attic with a sigh. There had been a few straggling drunks sitting at the tables, but they paid them no mind. Luke locked the door to the attic, stretched the blankets as best as he could over the bale of hay and kept her close as they slept for the first time in twenty-four hours. 

When they woke up well into the afternoon, orange haze colouring her world and illuminating his hair like an halo, she finally understood what his lyrics meant. Luke was a fallen angel and hers to cherish. They stared at each other, bruises and all, and let the quietude sink in. 

_We can stay here for a while, Heart said to Soul._

‘I think I need a new name,’ she whispered, afraid that if she spoke too loud the world would end. 

‘Yeah?’

She nodded. 

He thought for a moment. ‘What about Jules?’

Jules. No Julietta or Julie or any name that held any true power. But for her, it was the key to freedom. Jules was the most enchanting name that has ever left his lips.

‘Jules.’ She chuckled. From now on, she’d be Jules. Just Jules. Jules and Luke. Wherever they were, whoever they encountered, whatever danger they got in: Jules and Luke. ‘I love it.’

He grinned and pecked her lips. ‘Nice to meet you, Jules. I’m Luke.’

Jules sighed. There was no beginning or end to their relationship. They were fated, part of the stars that made up every constellation known to mankind and then further than that. They were Soul and Heart and Love and Tragedy and nothing would have prevented them from meeting. Jules brushed an eyelash from his cheek and blew it away, wishing for nothing but this to never end. To never stop loving until Life itself ended. 

Wishes upon lashes always came true. 

‘Nice to meet you, Luke.’) 

  
  


***

_It’s very simple. I love him. And every day, I choose to keep loving him._

***

**FIN**

**Author's Note:**

> No sequels, prequels, translations, cross-posting or cross-overs. Thank you for reading this mammoth!
> 
> 12/02/21 FANART ALERT! The amazing @Bluefire510 (@bluefirewrites on tumblr) drew Julie in her dress of the masquerade ball! https://bluefirewrites.tumblr.com/post/642911495967080448/at-long-last-love-has-arrived-by-ephemeraljoy


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